


Olivier the Reluctant Angel

by Etaleah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Brother-Sister Relationships, Central City, Comedy, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Fort Briggs, Friendship, Humor, Infertility, Little Sisters, Military, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, Motorcycles, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Sister-Sister Relationship, Sisters, Soldiers, Surrogacy, Theatre, Twins, Unfinished, Vacation, Women in the Military, and probably will be for some time unfortunately, old fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etaleah/pseuds/Etaleah
Summary: When Roy and Riza are unable to carry a baby full term after several attempts, they turn to a surrogate as their last hope. The surrogate is young, healthy, fertile...and Olivier Armstrong. What starts as a somewhat-forced favor to Riza quickly turns into a roller coaster of ups and downs as Olivier goes through the adventure of carrying Mustang's kid.





	1. The Trap

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the main storyline, when Miles is in Ishval and Grumman is fuhrer. This is slightly AU in that Buccaneer is still alive and did not die in the battle against Wrath, but that's the only change I've made.

This was all Riza's fault.

Well, hers and Fuhrer Grumman's, anyway.

_"_ _Oh Olivier, you're so sweet to do that for them." "Oh Olivier, you must be an angel sent from heaven." "Oh Olivier, you have no idea what a tremendous sacrifice you're making."_

Oh yes she did. She knew  _exactly_ what a huge sacrifice this was. And she did not like it.

 _"Oh Olivier, we can't thank you enough!"_ You got that right, sister. Never in a million years would anything compensate for this. And yet, here she was. In the one situation she would never have imagined herself in even in her worst nightmares.

Olivier was barefoot and pregnant. And single. In the kitchen of the Armstrong mansion. Miles away from Briggs. And hating everyone.

Now it wasn't really the pregnancy that bothered her. No, as a matter of fact that was going fairly well even though she was only two and half weeks along. No morning sickness, stomach still flat, still plenty of energy. Olivier was in the kitchen of her own free will; it had been her pigheaded idea to try and cook breakfast for herself to prove to her family that just because she was pregnant, it didn't mean she was helpless (which later backfired as she burned everything, even the water she was boiling). No, none of that made Olivier want to kill something.

It was the fact that she was pregnant with  _Mustang's_ kid. And no one bothered to tell her about it until just last night.

"That prick!" she growled, snapping a toothpick in half. "I'll kill him. That is if I don't kill Riza and Grumman first."  _Snap._ Another toothpick was gone. "It's no wonder she wouldn't tell me where the sperm was coming from."  _Snap._ "I can't believe I actually agreed to this. What the hell was I thinking?"  _Snap. Snap. Snap._

"You were thinking that this is a nice thing to do and that you're on a paid vacation anyway, so why not?" Olivier ignored her brother as he marched into the kitchen and attempted to keep her focus on breaking toothpicks. After she'd lost her temper about a month ago and sent a private to the hospital by socking him a good one right in the face, Grumman and the higher-ups were convinced she needed a healthy stress reliever and had ordered her to try various methods, saying that if she didn't they would file charges. First they tried to get her to, of all things, squeeze a rubber duck with an obnoxiously loud squeaker. As if the Ice Queen of Briggs was going to carry a damn  _toy_ around with her. Then Lieutenant Havoc had suggested breaking toothpicks, saying it worked for him sometimes after a hard day at work. Olivier had been rather surprised at how satisfying and calming it felt, the snapping sound reminiscent of breaking bones, and since then had tried to always keep a box nearby. In the two weeks since becoming pregnant, she'd gone through about eight of them.

"I should not" – _snap_ \- "be on a vacation."  _Snap. Snap._ "Paid or otherwise."  _Snap._ "My fort needs me!"  _Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap._

"Wasn't it you who said that you had trained your men to be ready for anything?" Alex reminded her as he sat down at the kitchen counter. He sniffed the air. "Good heavens, what on earth have you burned?" He nearly fell out of his seat upon seeing the death glare she shot him. It was chillingly similar to the bears that roamed the outside of her ice palace. Suddenly he felt very, very grateful for those toothpicks.

"I cannot  _believe_ Fuhrer Grumman dragged me into this. That man should be fired for egregious nepotism and for interfering in his subordinate's affairs!"

"Olivier, is it really so terrible of him to want to help his granddaughter? You saw how grateful Lieutenant Hawkeye was, didn't you? She had tears in her eyes. Oh, it was so beautiful!" Olivier rolled her eyes as Alex dabbed at his cheeks with an embroidered hankie.

"And it's so wonderful that you're helping her!" He jumped down and rushed toward her. Olivier turned and tried to run, but one of the many disadvantages of being pregnant was no sudden movements, no combat training, basically nothing fun. Alex caught her and lifted her up in a crushing backwards hug. Olivier grit her teeth and pinched at his bloated arms until he carefully set her down. Olivier shoved his hand away.

"You're a revolting little pansy," she spat and stalked out of the kitchen. "I'm going outside and don't you dare follow me."

Olivier stepped out into the backyard, relishing the warm sun. She still wasn't quite used to the temperature- hell, it was actually above zero- but she loved being outside no matter what, and the Armstrong yard was breathtaking. It was surrounded by thousands of flowers in all colors, and there was a butterfly garden nearby that was revered all over the country. Not to mention it was the one place in Central that didn't reek of pollution.

Olivier treaded carefully over to the butterfly garden and lay back on one of the soft couches near the shade, listening to birds, bees, and woodpeckers go about their routine. She stretched as far as she could and propped up her feet. She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh, relaxing. If there was a heaven like the Ishvalans talked about, which she doubted, this was what she would imagine it to be like.

Almost as if they had minds of their own, her hands drifted to her stomach and stayed there, caressing it absentmindedly. Becoming a surrogate mother was not something she'd had in mind when she'd planned to return to Central.

* * *

_"_ _General Armstrong, what brings you here?"_

_"_ _The Fuhrer sent me a letter I wish to discuss and I haven't been able to reach him by phone. I plan to ask him what this is all about and also deliver some paperwork from Briggs." The letter, which demanded that she take a paid vacation immediately, was being crumbled in half as she walked._

_But when she'd entered the office- the door was open, all the more proof that Central had shitty security- the Fuhrer was standing next to Lieutenant Hawkeye, who was sitting in a chair. His hand was on her shoulder and both of them looked incredibly grim._

_"_ _Why, Grandfather?" Riza whispered. "Why does this keep happening to me? I did everything I could think of to make sure I wouldn't lost this one."_

_"_ _I know, Riza. I'm so sorry. I wish there was something else I could do."_

_Olivier hesitated in the doorway, wondering if maybe she should leave and come back later since clearly the Fuhrer was dealing with…er, issues. But she really didn't want to wait. She'd boarded a damn train to come here and wanted this sorted out._

_"_ _The doctor said I really shouldn't try anymore. That it could damage my health." She sighed and stared at the floor, wiping at her eyes a bit. "I wanted a baby so bad."_

_"_ _Are you sure there's no other option? I know you didn't want to adopt, but…" Riza just shook her head. Grumman sighed. Olivier slowly inched her way back out the door, but accidentally banged against it and cursed under her breath._

_Their heads snapped up. "General?" Grumman called. Olivier stood at attention. "Ah yes, I figured you would come here after I sent that letter." He smiled weakly._

_"_ _It's quite alright sir. I can come back later," she said and turned to leave._

_"_ _No no, don't go. You've come all this way, I won't make you wait. Just sit down and I'll be with you in a moment."_

_"_ _Are you sure sir?" Olivier asked, glancing toward Riza, whose eyes were still a little wet._

_"_ _Yes, it's fine. I'll talk to you later, okay Riza?" She nodded and stood up. Olivier did feel some pity for her, she'd known Riza since she had first joined the military at seventeen and knew that she'd always wanted to be a mother. Why she wanted to be a mother was beyond Olivier, but then again Riza probably thought her just as crazy for enjoying the Briggs life._

_"_ _Oh Riza!" Grumman snapped his fingers, his features lightening. "I just remembered. There is another option."_

_"_ _What's that?" Riza's face brightened just a tad as she turned around._

_"_ _What about a surrogate?" When she looked confused, he explained, "I read about it in the paper. In the last several years doctors have perfected a technique that would let them take your egg and some sperm, make the embryo, and then insert it into the body of another healthy young woman who carries the baby to term and then gives it to the happy couple. I don't know all the scientific details, but there were plenty of success stories about it. Why don't you try that?"_

_Riza stopped in her tracks and thought for a moment. "It does sound good in theory. But what woman would be willing to do something so huge? That's such a monumental…I don't even know what to call it."_

_Grumman looked at the ceiling, presumably in thought. Olivier tapped her foot. This was wasting her time. Grumman's eyes immediately darted to her. "What about General Armstrong? She's fairly young, she's healthy, why not her?"_

_Olivier's eyes widened and her shoulders tensed. "Excuse me sir?" she snapped, her voice frostier than it should have been when directed at the ruler of the country._

_Grumman grinned. "I think you should carry Riza's baby. You're such a strong woman, pregnancy would be no problem for you."_

_"_ _Grandfather!" Riza exclaimed, mortified. "You can't ask her to do something like that."_

_"_ _Well, I am the Fuhrer," Grumman chuckled._

_Olivier clenched her teeth. "With respect, sir, I have a fort to run and a border to protect. While I am sympathetic to the Lieutenant's situation, I'm afraid I cannot help her." She was beginning to see why the old man was known as eccentric. Who the hell did he think he was, asking her to do something like that? Why didn't he just ask her to wear a "For Rent" sign around her neck while he was at it?_

_"_ _On the contrary, you have a year's worth of paid vacation time." He held up a finger before she could open her mouth. "And I know you came down here to argue that. Well, don't bother. It's a new labor law that all the higher-ups are insisting on, especially for people in the military. Anyone who has not taken more than a month off in five years is now required to do this. You, my dear, have never taken more than a week off in ten years. So you now have some spare time on your hands."_

_His tone was maddening, and if Grumman had been anyone but the fuhrer she would have wiped that condescending smile off his face in a second. "Sir, my men need me. My country needs me. I cannot afford a year off."_

_He frowned. "You can and they can. I have already ordered Briggs not to let you back in should you return before the year's end. You may deliver the paperwork they've sent, but after that you are required by law to utilize the time off. If you try to resist, I'll have some of my Central soldiers keep watch over you and make sure you're obeying the law." Olivier tensed, trying not to break her attention stance or make a fist. Why was he doing this? It wasn't any of his business how much time she did or didn't take off._

_Grumman shrugged and smiled. "Sweetheart, why not take a break? You've worked so hard I think you've earned one. Now you have a year to relax and pursue other hobbies. Doesn't that appeal to you at all? Because it certainly would to me."_

_Olivier let out a long sigh. As much as she wanted to put up a fight, she wasn't willing to jeopardize her career by crossing the fuhrer over something like this. "Fine. But I'm returning to Briggs immediately after the year's end." A whole year away from her home. What on earth was she supposed to do for a year?_

_Grumman nodded. "Good, good. Now about this baby business-"_

_Olivier's eyes flashed. "I have already given you my answer on that, sir."_

_"_ _Well it's not like you have anything else to do. Why not help Riza out with a good deed?"_

_"_ _Grandfather, please!" Riza chided. She turned to Olivier. "General, I apologize. It's not your responsibility to provide me with a child. You go and enjoy your vacation, and I hope to see you again when you leave."_

_Olivier returned her salute. "Thank you Lieutenant. And I do hope you find someone suitable for your cause."_

_Riza sighed. "I hope so too. The only women I would feel comfortable asking are in the military and they're all focused on their careers."_

_"_ _Good luck." Olivier turned to go when Grumman stopped her._

_"_ _Wait, General!"_

_She stood at attention again, but didn't turn around. "Yes, sir?"_

_"_ _I have a proposition for you."_

_"_ _What is it?"_

_"_ _If you carry my great-grandchild, I will promote you two whole ranks and designate you as next in line to be fuhrer should something happen to me."_

_Olivier's heart raced. Promoted up to General of the Army, the highest rank possible,_ and _next in line for fuhrer? Opportunities like that never happened._

_No. He was asking her to do the impossible. In fact, it wasn't just impossible. It was insulting._

_"_ _Sir, while I would certainly like to achieve that status, I want to do it by my own merits and achievements, not because I did your granddaughter a favor."_

_"_ _How about if I throw in five trillion cenz to the budget for weapons and supplies for Briggs?"_

_Olivier bit her lip, grateful she had her back to them. This was actually getting tempting. Her men always needed more weapons and supplies, and five trillion cenz was nothing to sneeze at._

_"_ _And I'll send you fifteen of Central's finest researchers for medicinal and arsenal development."_

_How did he know they desperately needed new researchers? Olivier truly hated this man. He knew her weaknesses._

_She shook her head. "Sir, I'm not a mother."_

_"_ _You wouldn't have to be. The minute the kid pops out, he or she is no longer your responsibility. You've got a full year and the baby only needs nine months. Just carry it to term, pop that sucker out, and after a little bit of rest and recovery, you'll be free to go back home to your new researchers and five trillion cenz richer budget. And with a much higher rank to boot."_

_She whipped around. "Fuhrer sir, with all due respect, why does this have to be me?"_

_"_ _You're the only woman in Central who isn't on active duty right now," Riza said uneasily. Olivier shot her a glare. Traitor. Riza was supposed to be on Olivier's side._

_Grumman put his hands together in a plea. "All of your medical bills will be paid for and you will be well taken care of, I promise you. And remember there's plenty in it for Briggs. I know all too well your men don't get the credit they deserve and I plan to change that."_

_"_ _I-"_

_"_ _Think of your fort, Olivier," Grumman reminded her. "Think of your boys up north. They could use the reward, couldn't they? And think how happy you'll have made Riza. Look at her."_

_Olivier turned around. The minute she saw Riza's face that reminded her of a kicked puppy, her heart sank. There was no getting out of this. Even if she said no today, Grumman would more than likely ask her again later. And she wouldn't put it past him to demote a few of her men as punishment either._

_Olivier sighed, still glaring at both of them. "All right. Fine. But let me make one thing clear. I am_ not _raising this kid. The second it comes out, it is your problem. Don't ask me to change any diapers."_

_Riza let out a breath. "You really will do it?"_

_"_ _Yes," Olivier said reluctantly._

_"_ _Oh Olivier, thank you," Riza said, flashing her a smile big enough to drive a tank over. She resisted the urge to glare at Grumman, who was snickering and probably patting himself on the back for working it out so perfectly._

_"_ _Thank you so much!"_

_"_ _Whatever. Let's just get this over with."_

* * *

And that was how it happened. The next several days were a blur of legal contracts, talking to doctors, and exchanging information. Olivier had pressed Riza for details on where the sperm was coming from- as far as she knew Riza wasn't married or dating- and Riza had said it was from a random donor. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back on an operating table, being anesthetized while the doctors did who knew what to get the baby inside her. When she woke up there was a monitor attached to her and smiling people surrounded her and said the procedure had gone well. Other than that not much had happened since it was only two weeks and the baby was still too tiny to be noticed yet.

At least, nothing had happened until last night.


	2. A Match Made in Hell

Olivier had been on a rare shopping trip with her mother, Josephine, since she didn't have any summer clothes and got hot easily. After several hours of arguing over what looked good, what was practical, and whether or not to buy maternity clothes, they had plopped down, exhausted, into a booth at one of the fancier restaurants in Central. She'd wanted a drink so badly it hurt, but guess what? She couldn't drink because she was pregnant _._  Which put her in an even sourer mood as her mother ordered red wine, Olivier's favorite, for herself.

"Mother, I'm sure one glass will be fine. The kid's not even there yet."

"Olivier Mira, just because this baby isn't yours, that does not strip you of the responsibility of taking care of it. At least not while it's in your body."

Olivier held out her hands. "Not even one sip?"

"No!" Olivier rolled her eyes. If it weren't for the fact that her mother was always moaning and groaning about how they never spent any time together, she would have gone shopping by herself. She made a mental note not to listen to her mother's moaning and groaning from now on.

"There she is!" someone close by shouted. Before Olivier could look up, a man's arms were around her and wet lips were planting disgusting kisses on her cheek. "Thank you thank you thank you!"

Olivier shoved the intruder away and scooted closer to the wall. "Get off! Who do you-  _Mustang?_ What are you doing here? I highly doubt you can afford this place."

"Olivier! Be nice," Josephine scolded.

Olivier turned to her mother. "Your eyesight must be going in your old age, or you would have seen that he deserved it."

"I'm sorry General, he's just excited." Riza appeared behind him. "And half-drunk," she admitted. Well, that much was obvious. Mustang's eyes were sparkling and looked a little glazed, his smile took up half his face, and he was swaying a bit.

"What's he so excited about? And why is he here? I thought he was in Ishval with Miles."

Riza nodded and leaned in a bit. "He was, but he took an extended leave so we could start our family."

"I wasn't aware you two were married," Josephine said, her brows rising.

Riza put a hand over her mouth. "We are," she whispered, "We had a ceremony in Ishval. Grandfather is working on getting the fraternization laws abolished, but there's a lot of red tape and paperwork that hasn't gone through yet so we still have to be careful. He promised us it would be finished by the time the baby's born though."

"Wait a second." Olivier felt the color drain from her face. "You told me the sperm was coming from a random donor."

"That'd be me!" Roy jerked his thumb toward himself. "Imma daddy gen'ral!"

The room was spinning. "Does that mean  _Mustang's_  the father?"

"Olivier!" they all hissed. "Keep your voice down!"

Riza must have seen the danger in Olivier's glare. She shrugged helplessly. "I'm really sorry I didn't tell you, but we were inside Central Command and couldn't take any chances. Besides, Grandfather and I were afraid you'd back out if you knew he was the father."

"You're damn right I would have backed out!" Olivier stood up. "I cannot believe you lied to me when I agreed to do you the biggest favor of your life." She felt like she would throw up. Not only had Riza, her long-term ally and somewhat friend, lied to her face, but now Mustang's DNA was inside her, growing and feeding off her. It was sickening.

Josephine sighed. "Olivier, stop being such a drama queen. It's only nine months. I was pregnant five times and I was much younger than you. Not to mention I actually raised the babies. You, my girl, don't have it nearly so bad."

"Yeah Gen'ral," Roy cheered, slurring his words a bit. "And then we're all gonna be a family!"

"Great," Olivier seethed. "Now go away. You're making me lose my appetite."

"How far along are you now?" Roy asked.

"Two and a half weeks," she spat. "Now go find someone who actually wants your company, if such a person exists."

Roy's eyes widened, ignoring the insult. "Already? Have you felt anything yet?" And then that bastard made the mistake of putting his hands on her stomach. It was rather unfortunate that the restaurant did not keep toothpicks nearby.

* * *

Olivier snapped out of her reverie at the feeling of something on her nose. She opened her eyes and couldn't hold back a smile at the sight of a bright red butterfly on her nose, staring her down. When it folded its wings back, she noticed it had company. There were butterflies on her hands, her legs, her chest, and her stomach. She guessed they liked the scent of her mother's flowery-smelling lotion she'd used that morning. They had been bred in the garden and hadn't learned to fear people like the animals she saw up north.

Olivier lay still for a while, watching the butterflies, soaking in the sun's warmth, a nice change from stinging winter winds, and enjoying her solitude. But after a while her feet went to sleep and her legs ached from being in the same position for so long, so she gently pushed the butterflies off and moved her legs, shaking her feet to wake them up. Then she frowned. There was one left. She hadn't noticed it because it was the same shade of blue as her clothes and blended in. It was beautiful. She'd never seen a blue butterfly before.

It was perched right on top of her navel, moving its wings back and forth and doing something with its legs (arms?). She admired the black stripes across its wings and its calm demeanor, then shifted slightly, hoping it would fly away. It didn't.

 _Hmpth. Stubborn thing._  Well she would show it. Olivier got up, her bare feet sinking into the tall grass and soft earth. To her amazement, the blue butterfly was still there. She gently brushed it off with her hand, but it continued to fly around her stomach as though it were a flower. She paused. Was it possible the tiny insect could sense the life inside?

 _No_ , she thought as she moved inside and closed the door.  _It's just the lotion._


	3. Family Dinner

"Guess who's coming home tomorrow?" Strongine asked eagerly at the dinner table that night. Even though it was just the family, the atmosphere was as fanciful as ever: huge, luminous chandeliers; a white tablecloth over a dining table that could easily seat thirty, and two of every utensil with napkins that could probably be used as blankets if the guests were small. Although she was more than used to eating like this at home, personally Olivier thought it was a bit much.

"Oh, please don't tell me the family's coming," Olivier half-groaned. "Father, I don't know how you can tolerate all those fat money-grabbers. Most of them are racist, sexist, homophobic and a million other words I'll attempt to refrain from using." Olivier ignored the dirty look he gave her in response and continued picking at her fruit salad. Apparently that was one of the few "safe foods" for her to eat, and even though she loved fruit salad, she also loved fish, which her family was tormenting her with by eating it in front of her. For the next eight months and one week, fish was off-limits just like alcohol.

"Only your favorite sister," Catherine said. "You can bet she'll be all over you tomorrow. Oh my, this fish is good." She smiled slyly at Olivier as she munched on hers. "It's a real shame you can't have any."

"Amue's returned from Ishval?" Olivier's fork stilled, trying to ignore Catherine. The desert region had been desperately seeking new volunteers, and Amue and Strongine had gone for a few months to help with clothes making, heavy lifting, and other odd jobs. Strongine had hated the heat and had suffered a minor injury, so she'd returned before too long. Amue, however, had stayed, saying it felt good to be needed even if the Ishvalans were afraid of her.

"Yes, and she's come home to stay!" Philip cheered from the head of the table. "She wrote saying she's been homesick and wishes to take some time off. Maybe a year, maybe more."

"It'll be so nice to have her home again," Josephine sighed, smiling and sipping at her soup. "It just doesn't feel right without her here."

Alex scratched his mustache. "You know, come to think of it, now that Olivier is on vacation, this will be the first time in at least ten years since the whole family has all been here together. We should do something to celebrate."

"Oh you're right, we should have a party!" Catherine exclaimed, bouncing in her seat.

"I hardly think having five grown adults living with their parents is something to celebrate," Olivier grumbled. The fish smelled so good, and to add insult to injury, it was flavored just the way she liked it. She chewed bitterly on a tasteless apple slice and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Olivier, you know our children are always welcome," Josephine chided. "Coming home to spend time with your family is nothing to be ashamed about."

"No, on the contrary, family reunions are a tradition that has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations!" Alex cried proudly, sparkles dancing around him.

"Strongine, when is your sister scheduled to arrive?" Philip asked.

"She called saying one of the servants was going to fetch her from the hotel at noon tomorrow and drive her here." She turned to Olivier and offered her a big grin. "She doesn't even know you're back, she'll be over the moon when we tell her you're here to stay."

"I doubt I'll be staying in the mansion very long," Olivier said, trying to catch a rolling blueberry, her favorite fruit, in her spoon. "I plan to get an apartment as soon as possible."

"Olivier, we've discussed this already. We insist you stay here until you give birth," Philip demanded in a tone that suggested he was quite used to getting his way. That old coot had gone far too long without a higher-up to order him around.

"Father, I'm  _fine_." That blueberry was getting annoying. It was one of the juicy, plump ones too. "I'm pregnant, not sick. And I'm not even three weeks in yet."

"Alex says the apartments in Central are nasty and expensive," Catherine reminded her, batting her lashes to turn up the charm. "And he would know, he's seen them. But then again, you seem to do quite well in nasty places, so it might be perfect for someone like you."

"Not everything your darling big brother says is true, Catherine," Oliver told her, refusing to acknowledge the well-concealed insult. She finally gave up on using her spoon and stuck her fingers into the bowl, ignoring the glares from her parents. It was more efficient to use her hands anyway.

Catherine opened her eyes wide and stared her down, sparkles galore. "I think he would know a bit more than you,  _Ollie-Em_." Everyone chuckled except Strongine, who shot Olivier a look of pity. Neither girl missed the mockery in Catherine's tone.

"Don't call me that." Olivier hated that her death glare never worked on her youngest sister.  _Spoiled brat._

"Why not? It's an adorable nickname that combines your first and middle name, both of which rarely get any use. I think it's perfectly clever," Philip stated.

 _Tch._  Of course he would take her side. Catherine had always been his pet. She was everyone's pet really, especially Alex's. Only Olivier, Amue and Strongine knew what was behind the cute, sparkling little mask.

"I hope you don't leave, Olivier. Amue will be crushed," Strongine said. "I can just see her face now. Her one and only big sister, home and not rushing off back to Briggs like she usually is."

"Aren't you at least a little bit excited, Olivier?" Josephine asked, leaning back in her chair as the servants carried away the dishes. "You haven't seen her in so long. You girls used to be so close."

Olivier shrugged, feeling a twinge of guilt in her chest. She wanted to look forward to Amue's homecoming, but she couldn't help dreading it. She never could explain how she felt about her oldest sister, especially when she didn't even understand it herself.

"She did ask why she never heard from you." Olivier really wished Strongine would shut up. "She said she sent you a whole stack of letters but never got any replies."

"Commanding a fort and protecting the northern border of an entire country from foreign invaders every day tends to take up all of my time," Olivier said briskly. Her stomach growled and she wished she'd eaten more. Fruit wasn't filling in the slightest. At Briggs she and every other soldier could pack away several pounds of meat at every meal. But in the Armstrong mansion it wasn't polite to ask for seconds, despite their huge appetites (which was why all their meals were full-course ones with appetizers, soups, salads, and of course, desserts).

"Surely you could have found time to write her one letter, just to let her know you were still alive." Josephine looked at her oldest daughter reproachfully. "You know she cares deeply about you."

Olivier winced inside.  _That's the problem. I wish she didn't._ "It's not like I didn't want to, I just wasn't able to," she lied. "In any case I'll see her tomorrow and we can catch up in person."

"I bet she'll be thrilled to know she won't be the heaviest one in the family for too much longer," Catherine said in her sweetest, aren't-I-the-most-adorable-thing-ever-voice. She giggled and tilted her head to the side. "Soon Ollie-Em will be big too."

"I told you not to call me that," Olivier said through clenched teeth. She gripped the seat of her chair hard to keep from throwing what little tableware was left at her infuriating sister. "And I still have a ways to go before I start showing so you can stuff it."

"Calm yourself Olivier, Catherine meant nothing by it," Philip scolded, giving her a look. "I'm sure your sister was only trying to think of a way to boost Amue's self-esteem, weren't you dear?"

Catherine giggled and made goo-goo eyes. "Of course, Father. I knew  _you_ would understand. Poor Ollie-Em is just so clueless."

Olivier reached for her sword, which wasn't there. "Call me that one more time and see what happens."

"Olivier! Can't we get through one dinner without you threatening to kill someone?" Josephine sighed.

"Well, Catherine did start it," Strongine pointed out, shooting Olivier a conspiratorial glance, which she was grateful for. It was always comforting to have an ally, even if the help didn't amount to much.

"Speaking of Catherine, did you know she's almost mastered the piano by now?" Alex chimed in, eager to break the tension.

"Oh yes, her playing is most elegant!" Philip exclaimed from underneath his thick beard, sounding a bit tipsy from the wine he'd had. If there was one thing the Armstrongs' father loved, it was his wine.

"Thank you, Father. I've also managed to lift not just one, but  _two_ grand pianos now, with one in each hand." She snuck a peek at her parents and brother, and seeing that they were distracted by a servant, she glared at Olivier, all cuteness and smiles gone. Her tone immediately lost any friendliness.

"What about you, Olivier? Can  _you_ lift two grand pianos? Can you even lift one?"

Olivier snorted. It was hopelessly pathetic how threatened Catherine felt by her being there. The three older sisters knew all too well that Olivier was her only real competition in terms of being the best all-star Armstrong. Amue and Strongine may have had the intelligence, artistic abilities, and strength to match her, but they would never have the beauty and charm so Catherine never bothered with them. Olivier, however, had all of it and more. She smiled bitterly. Catherine may have been cute, but she was twenty years old and still looked like a little girl. Olivier's womanly figure could easily attract twice as many men without her even trying.

She glanced at Alex, who was reclining in his chair, carefree as could be. He'd never known serious competition and that was why he was such a weakling. He was the only boy, the only alchemist, and the only Armstrong in the military at Central. Earning the family's pride and respect, as well as that of his country and its military, had been effortless for him. But in a family as ambitious and gifted as the Armstrongs, with four girls things could get ugly. Very ugly.

 _It didn't start out that way_ , Olivier remembered. When they were very young, the sisters had been close. Since they were homeschooled and had no neighbors, the girls were each other's playmates. Alex was their toy; they either pounced on him and tortured him or spoiled and protected him depending on their mood. But as they'd matured, expectations increased and they were told to make something of themselves and go far in life. Each one took it very seriously; every word of praise to one girl was a point added to her score and a point deducted from the other three. Slowly but surely the girls became rivals instead of best friends. Even now each girl had something unique that the other three wanted. Catherine had charm and manipulation; Olivier had beauty, confidence and success; Strongine had superb athletic ability and brute strength; and Amue possessed unparalleled fashion sense and artistic talent (they were all fairly evenly matched in terms of intelligence although Olivier spent more time sharpening her mind so she was often ahead of the other three in that department). Each girl yearned to be the best and it just wasn't possible for all four of them to achieve that status.

For a long time it had been every woman for herself, but when the youngest was born and immediately favored simply because she was the baby, the three of them had a common enemy. Catherine had turned what had been a competitive rivalry into a full-blown war very early in her life and her sisters had quickly banded back together in an effort to bring her down. Ironically, a fourth sister had brought the first three closer together than they ever had been, and though they all hated Catherine as much as she hated them, in an odd way they were grateful for her too.

Olivier sipped at her water (apparently herbal tea was off-limits too) and matched Catherine's dirty look. "I have better things to do than attempt useless endeavors like lifting pianos, but I  _can_  kill a grizzly bear with my bare hands, cook it, and eat it for dinner as well as fire, disassemble and reassemble weapons four times bigger than me. Oh, and I can also defeat an army of five thousand with an army of only two hundred and save millions of Amestrian civilian lives in the process. What about you, Catherine? Can  _you_ do that?" she asked in the exact same tone her sister had used before.

"Nice!" Strongine's hand met Olivier's in a high five, and the noise attracted the attention of the other half of the table before Catherine could retort. She sulked, her bright blues shooting daggers at Olivier.

The family continued to converse long after the table had been completely cleared, but Catherine didn't say another word and Olivier and Strongine winked at each other, counting that as an unqualified win for their side. And, just for a moment, they remembered and indulged in the togetherness they'd once shared years ago.


	4. Sisterhood

"She's here at last. Quick everyone, our sister Amue has arrived!" The sound of a blubbering wail accompanied that last sentence as Alex was heard rushing out the door, no doubt with his arms wide open for a hug. Olivier heaved a sigh. She had seen the limousine rolling up the long driveway from her bedroom window upstairs and had felt the knot of dread in her chest tighten. She gazed out the window and watched Amue squeeze out of the car- she barely fit- and meet her brother in a trademark Armstrong embrace. She was sparkling even more than usual, a sure sign she was happy to be home.

Olivier knew she would have to confront her sister eventually, but was putting it off as long as possible. She still didn't quite understand why. She didn't understand anything when it came to Amue.

"Sister," Strongine called from behind her locked door. "Come on, you can't hide in there forever. No doubt Alex has already told her you're here." She knocked on the door. "Come on, open up."

Olivier slid off her bed and glanced at herself in the three-way mirror. After barking at a servant to crank up the A/C, she'd slipped on a pair of her good pants and one of her nicer black shirts, the one with thin white sleeves that extended from the shoulders. She hated how much it showed off her bust, but then there wasn't much to be done about that since Olivier was the kind of woman who could wear a turtleneck and still look like she was showing off. The pants she'd chosen for Amue's sake; her sister would never be able to wear them a day in her life but for some reason she loved seeing them on other people. Olivier walked to the door in her bare feet and unlocked it.

Strongine's massive hands came down on her shoulders. "I know it's hard, but please try your absolute best to be nice and tolerate her at least for a little while. After she's gotten over her homesickness and the excitement has worn off you can go back to being your old nasty self."

"I wasn't exactly planning on biting her head off the minute she walked through the door; you don't need to be so protective," she said, raising an eyebrow. "I plan to give her a two-day grace period to make up for the fact that I never contacted her. After that all bets are off."

Strongine nodded. "Fair enough." She grinned. "Who knows? Maybe you'll even warm up to her love."

"Please. I doubt all that 'honey' and 'sweetheart' stuff will ever grow on me." Olivier followed Strongine down the long, winding, red-carpeted staircase of the mansion and steeled herself.  _Don't shout, snap, or be sarcastic. Stay calm and be patient._ The rest of the family was already at the door, crowded around the biggest Armstrong of them all.

"What's this? Is my daughter actually getting a tan?" Josephine said with delight. "That's unheard of for an Armstrong!"

"Never underestimate the desert sun, my dear!" Philip reminded her. "Why I remember back when I was a soldier, I-"

"Oh Father, I'm sure that story is interesting, but please let me get my bags to my room first," Amue stopped him quickly. Olivier was grateful. It was dangerous to let their father start his flashbacks. They often didn't stop for hours.

"Right, right!" Philip snapped his fingers, and two butlers appeared in an instant. "Take my daughter's bags up to her room please. Alex, would you mind the heavier ones?"

"Of course, Father." Alex gripped the handles of two suitcases that were roughly half the height of a standard doorframe and the two Armstrong parents moved aside for the poor butlers, who nearly broke their arms trying to lift the bags. Amue suddenly came into view (not that she had entirely been hidden before) and Olivier ducked behind a potted palm before she could be spotted. Amue looked happy. Dangerously happy.

Strongine gave Olivier a dirty look and strode over to her older sister. "I've missed you so much. Oh honey, you look marvelous…" Olivier could actually hear their muscles flexing and contracting as the two enormous girls threw their arms around each other and complimented their clothing and hairdos.

"And Catherine, sweetheart!" Olivier smirked and stifled her laughter as she heard Catherine let out a short scream. To anyone else it would look as though Amue was simply giving her an extremely affectionate hug, but Olivier knew she was intentionally squeezing the breath out of their snotty little sister. A hug like that from Amue Armstrong didn't stop hugging for a week.  _Take that, brat_ , Olivier thought with satisfaction.

"Oh and Amue, guess who's here?" Olivier groaned internally at her father's happy announcement. Now it was her turn.

"Who? Did the family come? Or the Fuhrer?"

"Even better, sweetie!" Strongine crossed the threshold in one stride and snatched Olivier by the arm, dragging her into view. Olivier started to glare daggers at Strongine, but then quickly replaced it with a smile that she hoped looked sincere enough.

"Your big sister has returned from Briggs."

Olivier didn't even get a chance to say hello before she was barreled into by a mass of flesh. Amue picked her up, just like Olivier knew she would, and slammed her into a crushing hug. Olivier shut her eyes and focused on attempting to hug back. She willed herself not to dwell on the fact that her face was now smashed in between Amue's breasts. Or that Amue was showering the top of her head with kisses and that painfully aggravating  _mwah_ sound. Or that her feet were dangling a good two feet off the ground, which always made her nervous. Olivier didn't like heights. She could handle them (she wouldn't have lasted long at Briggs otherwise), but didn't like them. They made her feel vulnerable and open to attack.

"Olivier, I can't believe you're here! It's been ages since I've seen you. How have you been, darling?" Olivier would have answered, but all speech capabilities had left her. At the moment she was seeing more of her younger sister's cleavage than she had ever wanted to see.  _Why_  did Amue always insist on wearing these low-cut dresses? For a moment she actually felt sorry for Catherine; she had gotten it ten times worse.

"I'm sorry, I'm probably smothering you, aren't I?" Amue finally relaxed her hold and lowered her. Olivier's hair was mussed and her face looked a little grim, but she managed to shake it off.

"And you look so cute! That T-shirt flatters you so well," she squealed. With some effort, Olivier managed a tight-lipped smile in thanks.

"We'll leave you two alone so you can catch up," Strongine grinned, leading her parents away. Catherine lingered in the corner, much to Olivier's chagrin.

Amue clasped her hands together. "Sister, how are you?"

Olivier focused on fixing her hair. That flicker of adoration in Amue's eyes made her uneasy. "I'm fine. How is Ishval progressing?"

"Much better. They've almost completely gotten back on their feet. Major Miles is working wonders."

That made Olivier smile for real. "Of course he is." She felt a warmth in her chest, remembering her cherished subordinate. Briggs wasn't the same without him, and though she made sure no one knew it, she missed him terribly.

"Most of the Ishvalan women loved my clothing designs. I did try my hardest to make them look good while still staying true to their culture. Although the Ishvalan men weren't fond of me." Amue's eyes darkened a bit and she bowed her head. Olivier touched her arm.

"I'm sure they appreciated it. You did a true service to their country and ours by proving that not all Amestrians want to hurt them." She kept her voice as soft as possible, a tone no one outside her family would ever hear.

Amue was one of the few people on Earth that Olivier felt genuine sympathy for. She had amazing talent, but rarely had any luck finding a job even with the Armstrong name attached to her. It made Olivier's blood boil to know that people took one look at her and immediately shot her down without even giving her a chance. Strongine had learned to shrug it off, not care, and accept that it would always be that way, but Amue was sensitive. Amue tried desperately to make herself nicer to look at by covering herself in makeup and wearing only the finest clothes, but she was still mistaken for a man and was crushed by it. If Olivier could have traded bodies with her, she would have in a second. Having muscle mass like her sister's would make crushing Drachman armies as simple as crushing toothpicks, and in the military having people think you were a man was an advantage.

"Thank you." Amue held Olivier to her again, more gently this time. "That means so much coming from you." Olivier frowned at that last part. There was no reason why her opinion should mean more than anyone else's.

"Hey Amue!" Catherine smiled, having recovered from the traumatizing hug. Now that they were alone, her expression and tone were nothing short of sinister. "Did Olivier tell you she's having a baby?"

"Oof!" Olivier let out a yelp as Amue suddenly dropped her. She fell backward and landed on her back. Catherine grinned smugly and placed her hands on her hips.

"I just thought she should know," she said, fluttering her eyelashes and pretending to blush, cupping her hands. "I'm sorry, was it supposed to be a secret?"

"No Catherine, we know you can't keep  _anything_ secret," Olivier snarled. She turned to Amue, whose mouth was agape and who appeared absolutely shell-shocked.

"You're… _what?_ "

Olivier's eyes rolled skyward. "Look, it's not what you're thinking. See, the child's not actually-"

"Then you  _are_ having a baby? Catherine's telling the truth?"

"Well yes, I'm expecting, but-"

"Oh Olivier, that's so  _wonderful!_ " And just like that, the oldest Armstrong was airborne yet again and in her little sister's clutches. "You're going to be a mother and I'm going to be an auntie! Our very first Armstrong baby of the next generation! Oh, I'm so  _excited_ for you!" Olivier grimaced as Amue jumped up and down while speaking in a high voice, shaking the house and revealing even more cleavage. Olivier groaned as she began to feel dizzy from asphyxiation.

"You have to tell me everything. What are you going to name it? Is it a boy or a girl? How far along are you? You must have just found out, you're still so thin. Are you having it here in Central? Are you planning on quitting your job to raise it?" Upon hearing no answer, Amue set her down and gripped her shoulders. "Come on, baby mama! Details, details!"

Olivier waited for the spots to clear from her vision before replying, as patiently as she could. "Amue, listen. The baby isn't-"

"Oh, but first, you have to tell me who the father is. My goodness, you didn't get married while I was away, did you?"

Olivier almost shuddered at the word marriage. "Of course not."

"The father is none other than Roy Mustang," Catherine sneered. It was taking everything Olivier had not to hold her sister at swordpoint.

"No!" Amue gasped. "Is that true, Olivier?"

Olivier clenched her fists. "Riza Hawkeye didn't inform me of that little detail until afterwards, so unfortunately it is." She quickly explained the rest before Catherine could say anything else.

Amue was flabbergasted. "You're a surrogate?  _You?_ "

"Hardly by choice. Fuhrer Grumman dragged me into it."

Amue began to sparkle, a sure sign she was getting emotional. She reached into her pocket for a handkerchief as long as Olivier's arm and dabbed at her eyes. "That is so sweet. You're such an angel to do that for them."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Catherine said, hands behind her back as innocent as you please. "After all, I highly doubt it's the first time Olivier's rented out her body to a higher-up."

Amue would say afterwards that she never saw Olivier move, but the next second had Catherine against the wall with Olivier's face contorted in rage, ready to wring her neck. "How dare you imply- I work day and night to protect your Central City asses and you-" She couldn't even seem to speak she was so angry. Amue backed away cautiously. Catherine matched Olivier's deadly glare and started to grab hold of her sister's hair to fling her off, but then quickly stopped and cried out.

"Mother, Father, Alex, help me!" she whined piteously. "Olivier's trying to hurt me."

Olivier didn't even have to turn around to know that  _of course_ her family had chosen to return at just that moment and probably had no idea what Catherine had said. Nor would they believe her if she told them, not that she was going to. She certainly didn't need them to fight her battles for her.

"Olivier, what are you doing?" Josephine cried. Alex and Philip started toward her, but Olivier gave a hard yank on Catherine's hair and stepped away before they could touch her. Catherine ran to Alex's open arms and wept. Well not really- she hadn't actually cried in years, but all it took was a few fake sobs to make everybody buy into her lies.

"My dear, why must you be so cruel to Catherine? She's only a baby after all," Philip said, shaking his head. Catherine shot her a snarky smile from under Alex's arms.

"Just teaching her a lesson, that's all," she said while maintaining her death glare with Catherine. "But I suppose I can finish that later." She hardened her tone to make Catherine know she meant it.

Amue put a huge hand on Olivier's shoulder. "Come on. Let's go out into the yard for a bit and you and I can talk without any interruptions." And by the emphasis she put on "interruptions," Olivier knew what she really wanted to say was "snobby little sisters." She wasn't exactly itching to spend time alone with Amue either, but at the moment it was more appealing than standing there with her parents and brother looking at her as though she were a monster.

This was going to be a long eight months.


	5. Persuasion

There was a certain wing of the Armstrong mansion that was well known for its "sleepy effect," something Olivier knew all too well and despised with a passion. When she was at Briggs, she could easily run eight miles, do fifty push-ups, sit-ups and pull-ups each; lift two hundred pound weights and hold it for three minutes, and run on four hours of sleep and two cups of coffee a day with no problem. When she was at home, getting up from the couch felt like an effort. Something about the atmosphere of this part of the building just tuckered you out. The drab décor, antique furniture, and lack of windows, most likely.

Olivier yawned, wondering if in her case, fatigue was an early symptom of what was soon to come. She lay stretched out on her stomach on the sofa and was actually having to force herself to keep her eyes open, not wanting to waste the day and night by falling asleep so early. Though sadly there wasn't much else for her to do. The military refused her so much as a single sheet of paperwork, and she couldn't travel or do anything intense while pregnant, so up to this point she'd mostly been going for long walks (the only exercise she was allowed) and sharpening her mind. She'd gone to the Central Public Library almost every day and stayed until closing time, reading books on military strategies and weaponry and taking notes. And on weekends when the library was closed she'd been holed up in her room or at a café, exercising her brain with more books, the newspaper, letters to Miles about Ishval, puzzles, number games, and occasionally sketching, which she hadn't done in years but thought might be a handy skill to know in case she needed to draw up blueprints or describe a missing soldier.

The only reason she was back there now, in an unused parlor-type room that had grown a bit dusty, was to obtain some peace and quiet from her boisterous, overly affectionate family. In fact, that was part of the reason she'd been going out so frequently. Another two weeks had come and gone since Amue had returned home, and time was passing painfully slowly. Olivier had gone apartment searching one weekend but hadn't had any luck. They were all dirty, expensive, ugly, unfurnished, smelled bad, needed repairs, or weren't practical. She had wanted to find one close to the hospital just in case anything went wrong or she happened to go into labor in the middle of the night, but no dice. At this point she was thinking she might as well stay in the mansion; her family was begging her to and she would certainly be better cared for and better fed. Plus it  _would_  save money, money that could be used to move along the Ishval Restoration.

It was Sunday, which meant the library was closed, and it was so unbearably hot outside that even she wasn't willing to venture outdoors. Olivier could handle all kinds of cold, but stick her in the boiling summer sun and she'd melt like butter. She knew she'd be a miserable wreck if she ever did get to Ishval, which was the main reason why she had mostly supported it monetarily up to this point.

"I'm so bored," she mumbled. "And I always thought hell would freeze over before I ever said that. I can't even remember what I used to do before I worked at Briggs."

"Well, I do." Olivier looked up and saw her mother standing in the doorway, an amused expression on her face. "Hello, stranger. I thought I'd find you here. Looking for more ways to avoid us?"

 _No, I like loafing around in dusty parlor rooms that can also be used as sedatives. I do it all the time._ But this was her mother, so Olivier restrained herself.

"I'm not avoiding you all, I just don't like sitting around the house. I have to do _something_  productive."

Josephine took a tentative step into the room and immediately yawned. "This place hasn't changed at all. It's still just as drowsy as ever. I'm surprised you're still awake."

"I may not be for much longer," Olivier mumbled, lowering her head back onto the throw pillow. "I remember when I housed all of my men in the mansion, I forbade them from ever going near this place. They all thought it was some secret lair filled with hidden treasures, but the reality is I knew the minute any of them set foot in here, all the energy would be zapped right out of them."

Josephine nodded. "That was wise. The only time I can ever remember spending time here was when I was heavily pregnant, because I had trouble sleeping. But this room worked like magic. Not even the maids were brave enough to follow me." She touched Olivier's arm. "A word of advice from your dear old mother: enjoy sleeping on your stomach while you still can."

"I didn't even think about that part," Olivier said, scowling. "That'll be hell. I can never fall asleep on my back or side."

"I know, you've slept on your stomach every night since you were a baby."

"I have having nothing else to do but sleep," Olivier complained. "At Briggs I was busy every moment, and now I hardly know what to do with myself."

"Do you want to know what you used to do before you became so active in the military? And before you decided you wanted nothing more to do with us?" Josephine's mouth was frowning but her eyes were smiling. She sat on the coffee table next to the sofa and pushed Olivier's hair back.

Olivier rarely thought of life before Briggs, so it took her a minute to answer. "Lessons mostly, if memory serves me correctly. Lessons and exercises. I was only fourteen when I started training and learning how to use the sword."

"But you do remember what you and your brother and sisters did for fun, right?"

"Wrestled and played outside. That was when we were small."

Josephine sighed. "You really have forgotten, haven't you? The five of you used to sing and dance."

Olivier groaned. "Oh, don't remind me. I shouldn't have wasted my time with that."

"Why not? You used to love it. And so did they. That was the one thing you all did so well, such lovely voices! And you were a promising and talented tap dancer, we were all so sad when you gave it up."

Olivier shook her head, cringing a little at the thought of doing something so frivolous. "Singing and dancing serve no purpose to society. I don't know why we kept it up for so many years."

"Oh, you're wrong, Olivier. Don't you remember when you sang your two solos? You moved the whole audience to tears. Including us."

Olivier rolled her eyes. "My singing is nothing special. And even if I wanted to pick it up again, I haven't opened my mouth to sing one word in years."

Josephine lowered her eyes. "That's such a shame. I remember when you used to sing all the time. In the shower, during training, while you studied, in the car. You couldn't go a day without it, and you had such a beautiful voice. I never could understand why you suddenly stopped."

_Because after my voice matured and got better, everybody wanted me to sing on demand, whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, for as long as they wanted. Because every time we had company, you and Father tried to show me off. That was when it stopped being fun and became a chore._

Olivier stretched, trying to wake up. "The others are better than I am anyway. Amue and Catherine can hit higher notes than me."

"They take care better care of their voices, my dear." Josephine arched an eyebrow. "They listen to their mother."

"Humph. It can't be helped that my job requires me to yell at incompetent soldiers."

"True, but you  _could_  help the fact that whenever you performed on stage, you belted as long and loud and high as you could, even when it strained your vocal cords."

"That's what mezzo-sopranos are supposed to do," Olivier growled.

"There she is!" Olivier and Josephine turned to see the rest of the family squeeze into the tiny parlor room and crowd around them, bouncing a little. "Did you tell her yet?"

"Tell me what?" Olivier bolted upright, weariness gone.

"You remember how we said that we should do something to celebrate the fact that the whole family is together again?" Alex asked.

Olivier narrowed her eyes. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I don't like parties."

"Not a party, Sister," Amue corrected her. "We thought of something much better!"

"Now I'm terrified," Olivier said. "What hare-brained scheme did all of you come up with?"

They exchanged conspiratorial smiles. "We're bringing back the Armstrong Five!" they cheered.

Olivier clenched her teeth and gave them her most fearsome glare, shaking her head slowly. "No. Definitely not."

"Aw, come on, it was so much fun!" Strongine whined.

"You liked it too, I know you did," Amue told her.

"Maybe when I was much younger, but now I have a reputation to uphold."

"What we were thinking, Olivier," Philip rumbled. "Is that we could have a charity benefit concert. And all the proceeds would go toward supporting Ishval. The Armstrong Five would perform some numbers, we could hire an orchestra to accompany all of you, Catherine could play her piano solo-"

"And you could tap dance like you used to!" Amue burst out. "I think we could generate a lot of money, especially if people know it's for a good cause."

"It's a nice thought, but I'm  _not_  performing," Olivier insisted. "Besides, I'm sure I can't dance in my condition."

"You could tap dance and be perfectly fine. At least while you're in your first trimester," Josephine said.

"I don't care, it's not happening." Olivier folded her arms.

"But Sister, we can't do it without you!" Alex begged. "You're the best dancer we have." He gestured to the girls. "Between the four of us, we've got the high notes, the low notes, and the harmonies, but we still need someone to sing the melody and the middle notes. You're the only one who can do it."

"I'm sure between Strongine's alto and Catherine's soprano, you could work something out."

"No we can't. It's too low for me and too high for her," Catherine argued.

"Consider Olivier, don't you wish to support Ishval in any way you can?" Philip asked.

Olivier wanted to smack him. How dare he try to emotionally manipulate her like that? "Of course I do, but not by doing something so idiotic! You really think me performing will make that much of a difference?"

"Yes!" they all yelled. Olivier was taken aback by the forcefulness of their response.

"Like you said, you have a reputation. Do you know how many people would pay money to see General Armstrong, the Queen of Briggs, sing and dance onstage?" Catherine teased.

"People would flock from all over the country to see it," Amue added.

"Oh great," Olivier said. "Just what I need."  _Then everyone at work will want me to sing too._ She'd never be taken seriously again.

"Well, you did say you were bored," Josephine reminded her. "And this would certainly give you something to do."

"I'm not singing," Olivier repeated. "The rest of you do what you like, but leave me out of it. I'm not making a fool out of myself by dancing to some silly music onstage."

"But we can't be the Armstrong Five without you!" Amue cried.

"You can be the Armstrong Four then. You've got a bass, an alto, a soprano, and an operetta. That's good enough."

"Pleeeeassse? We need a mezzo-soprano too or we won't sound right," Strongine begged.

"It's like riding a bike, you'll pick it up again in no time," Catherine said.

Olivier threw a cushion at her. "For the last time, no!"

"Well, it's not like you have anything better to do," Catherine said, catching the cushion and rolling her eyes.

_The last time someone said that, I got pregnant with the spawn of a man I hate._

"Olivier, you'll have plenty of time to sit around and do nothing while you're in your second and third trimester. You should enjoy being active while you still can," Philip told her.

"We'll even let you pick the songs," Amue promised.

"None of you understand. We're not children anymore," Olivier said. "That stuff may have been cute then, but now we're grown adults. Alex may not care about his reputation in the military, but I care about mine."

"That's funny, I always thought you said you didn't care what people thought about you," Josephine reminded her.

"Don't twist my words, Mother. You know what I mean."

Josephine folded her arms. "What  _exactly_ is the problem? Are you afraid?"

"Just because we're adults, that doesn't mean we can't be just as good as we were," Strongine said. "If anything, our voices have only gotten better."

Olivier was halfway tempted to storm out of the room, but she knew they would only follow her. "Just because our silly little sibling music act had a good run in community theaters and clubs when we were young, that doesn't mean anyone will want to see us now."

"They will if you're there," Amue said. "You're amazing onstage." And there were those blasted puppy eyes of hers.

"How about this?" Josephine offered. "We'll compromise. All five of you practice together for a week, and then if Olivier still doesn't feel up to it, we won't do it. And if she does, we'll go ahead and make the arrangements."

"That sounds grand! What do you say, dear?" Now it was Philip's turn to make puppy eyes.

"Tch. If it'll get you all off my back, I'll go along for a week."  _On second thought, maybe a dirty, impractical apartment wouldn't be so bad._

"Oh thank you Sister!" Amue, Strongine, and Alex leapt for her before she could stop them, knocking her backwards onto the sofa so that she lay flat on her back. This time it was Strongine's cleavage in her face (though thankfully her shirt covered her), and Alex and Amue were sprawled out on top of her with their arms outstretched.

"Get off!" Olivier croaked, but she was muffled under the three huge bodies piled on top of her. "I can't breathe!"

"Oh my, this room is-" Strongine yawned. "Awfully sleepy, isn't it? I didn't even notice it until now…night-night."

"Strongine." Olivier's voice was just below a shout. "Wake up. Go back to your bed if you want to sleep."

"I agree, this place puts you right out. I think I'll just…" Amue's sentence was cut off as her eyes slid closed and her breathing slowed. Alex was already snoring softly.

"No! No no no no, do NOT fall asleep on me!" Olivier shouted. She couldn't even move her arms out from under them. "Get off!"

"Don't worry dear, I'll move them," Josephine assured her. She and Philip gave yawns of their own and moved toward their offspring.

"Mother, Father, I think I hear the cook calling you," Catherine cried. She cupped her cheeks and sparkled, her face the picture of worry. "She sounds so scared! What if she's set the house on fire again?"

"Oh dear, not again!" Philip and Josephine exclaimed, rushing out of the room.

"Wait! Get them off me first!" Olivier called, but they were already gone.

Catherine grinned and faked a yawn. "Ya know, I think I'm tired too."

"Catherine, if they stay like this too long, they'll crush the fetus and my ribcage. Lift them off me, I know you can."

"Gee Ollie-Em, I would, I really would, but I'm just so sleepy." Catherine snickered. "In fact, I think I'll go to sleep too." She climbed on top of Alex and made herself comfortable, a satisfied smirk on her face. Olivier continued to glare although Catherine couldn't see her.

"You think this is funny? Wait till I get my hands on you-"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you underneath Strongine's bosoms."

"Brat," Olivier muttered.  _Why_ did she have to be the least muscular of the family? She wiggled around for a bit and continued to yell at her siblings, but all hope was lost as Strongine's snores grew louder and her arms wrapped around Olivier's back in her sleep, hugging her like a teddy bear. Olivier's whole body ached from the weight and it wasn't long before she finally gave up and lay there helplessly, listening to Strongine's heartbeat and the sounds of her brother and sisters' breathing. Soon she began to feel tired too and let herself relax and doze off.

And thus the five Armstrong siblings fell asleep, one on top of the other. When Josephine at last remembered the situation and rushed back into the parlor room, she smiled fondly and snapped a picture, recalling the days when such a sight was far from unusual.


	6. A Whole New Song and Dance

Naturally the other Armstrongs had all insisted on starting practice right away, which was probably a good thing, as it was slow going. It had been so long since Olivier had sung anything that she barely remembered how, and at first she'd sounded as though she were mumbling her parts. It felt so awkward and silly and she'd wanted nothing more than to tell them to forget it, but she'd promised them a week and Olivier Armstrong was nothing if not a woman of her word. She'd gradually gotten better over the past hour, but the others, who had all stayed in practice, were getting impatient.

"Olivier, you have to sing like you mean it. A mezzo-soprano needs to belt, singing softly is  _our_  job," Strongine commanded, leaning heavily on a music stand. The five of them were in the music room arranged from lowest voice to highest. Which unfortunately put Olivier in between Strongine and Catherine. Hearing a low voice at her right and a high one at her left was confusing and she often found herself trying to match their pitches without meaning to.

"Shut up. I haven't done this in over a decade and I'm still getting used to it," Olivier snapped. She stared at the sheet music in front of her, trying to remember what all the symbols meant and what sounds they were supposed to make.  _This is such a waste of time._

"It's all right. Take your time figuring it out and the rest of us will just go over the harmonies," Amue said. "We'll get to the melody later. One, two, three, go!" The four Armstrongs burst into song, Amue drowning them out for the most part. Strongine and Alex always did the best they could, but there wasn't much hope for the low parts when they were surrounded by shrill high notes, particularly Amue's. She was one of the rare few that could sing opera  _and_  operetta, and her voice always filled the room. Catherine's voice was sweet and pretty in both Soprano I and II. Strongine could sometimes double up as a tenor and Alex doubled as a baritone, but for the most part they stuck to alto and bass since they didn't have much ability to sing anything else.

While they were distracted, Olivier grabbed her tap shoes from the corner she'd shoved them in and relocated to the ballroom. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn these old things, and they'd suffered quite a bit of wear from when she'd taken lessons as a child (though somehow they still fit). Tap had been the one form of dance she actually liked; she hated dancing with partners and ballet required too much grace and femininity.

She closed the door, sat down, and carefully slipped them on. The  _tap-slap_ sound of the toe and heel hitting the hardwood floor brought back a flood of memories.

"Back in the day these were quite the stress reliever," she murmured. Whenever she'd had a bad day, she had always snuck over to the ballroom and furiously tapped away whatever was bothering her. The sound had been satisfying and the intense, fast exercise had melted away all the anger inside her.

Olivier awkwardly stood up, trying to remember what to do. They hadn't been able to acquire the right music yet, which made singing and dancing much more difficult. Usually she had just let the music decide the steps for her. She closed her eyes.  _How did the routine go again? I know there was the shuffle-step._ She scraped her foot back and forth against the floor, the metal on the bottom of her shoe producing the required sound, and stamped her foot.  _Then it went tap tap, heel, heel._   _Toe, heel, toe, heel._ Her movements were stiff, slow and cumbersome, and at one point she shuffle-stepped a bit too hard and fell backward.

"Oh, hell," she spat. Olivier pushed herself up and randomly tapped this way and that, finally deciding to just make something up. After all, she still wasn't planning on doing the concert, but if she could come up with something to show her family, they would leave her alone about it. And if what she came up with looked bad, all the better.

She tapped and spun and stomped her feet as fast as she could, waving her arms for balance and being careful not to put too much weight on her feet.  _Keep your knees bent._  The awkwardness was beginning to fade. The rhythm came rushing back after being engrained in her muscle memory, and after a moment she didn't have to look at her feet anymore. They moved of their own accord and increasingly picked up speed. Olivier smiled. Now she remembered why she'd done it as a child. Once you got good enough, it felt like flying.

Without even thinking about it, Olivier took a deep breath and began to sing. The first thing that came to mind was an Ishvalan song Miles had taught her late one night when they'd been two of only ten people working the graveyard shift. The nice thing about singing in another language was that nobody would know if she messed up, and she liked the hard, assertive "Ha" sounds that the "Ch" in Ishvalan made.

_No-deh-a-lo-heinu_

_No-deh-a-do-nei-nu_

_No-deh-a'mal-heinu_

_No-deh-a'moshienu_

_Baruch-a'lo-heinu…_

Her baby blues widened. She sounded  _good_. No, she sounded great. Somehow she'd gained a wider range and could achieve more vibrato than she had before. But could she still belt? She stopped for a second, caught her breath, and began to tap again. She opened her mouth wide and raised her voice.

_Mi-cha-lo-heinu_

_Mi-cha-do-nei-nu_

_Mi-cha'mal-heinu_

_Mi-cha'mo-shienu_

Olivier's heart pumped faster and faster, and her hair swung back and forth as the routine she'd performed countless times resurfaced in her memory, giving her feet minds of their own. She experimented with her voice, going as high and low as she could, and always loud. The louder she sang, the better she sounded, and the constant ring of her dancing gave the song a nice beat that echoed through her whole body.

Olivier bit back a laugh. This was  _fun_! She had missed working out terribly since she first became pregnant a month ago and this was giving her just the adrenaline boost she'd been craving. And her singing…was that really her voice?

She wasn't entirely sure what the lyrics of the song meant (she could have been condemning her family to eternal poverty and suffering for all she knew), but Miles had said the song was meant to praise Ishvala and that it was an old and cherished one. Which meant it would certainly be fitting for an Ishval benefit concert.

_Na'chita-va-has-da-ha_

_Amzu-ga'alta_

_Na'chita-va-has-da-ha_

_Amzu-ga'alta_

_Ashira, ashira, ashira!_

_Ashira la'adonai_

_Ki-ga'oh-ga'ah_

_Mi-cha-lo-cha-baelim-a'donai!_

_Mi-cha-mo-cha-ne-dar-bakodesh…_

Yes! If she pushed herself enough, she could almost sing Soprano II. She had never been able to do that before; she'd always faltered just under it. Her voice sounded almost like Catherine's but louder, stronger, clearer,  _better_. Just for the hell of it, she sang faster and tapped quicker, twirling every now and then just to have her hair fan out behind her. This was like a high. It had been so long since she'd done anything like this. When was the last time she had felt this loose, this free?

All too soon Olivier reached the end of the song, and as she did so she twirled around as fast as she could, her tap shoes scraping wonderfully against the floor and her hair enveloping her. She stretched her voice as far as it would go and, unable to keep the smile off her face, she closed her eyes and struck a dramatic pose as she sang the last word, throwing her head back and raising her hands in the air.

Her eyes immediately opened to the sound of applause, and widened in horror at seeing Roy Mustang with that  _stupid, stupid_ grin on his face, laughing and clapping. And to his left was her most trusted subordinate, Captain Buccaneer, with an even bigger smirk on his face.

It couldn't be more obvious they'd been there for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs in this chapter are taken from a few Hebrew songs. The first one is from "Ein Keloheinu" and the second is an excerpt of the song "When You Believe" from Prince of Egypt. I claim no ownership for either one but thought it would be fitting for Ishvalan songs to resemble Hebrew ones since the Ishvalan War of Extermination is reminiscent of the Holocaust.


	7. Enter the Briggs Mountain Bear

"Bravo, General. You should give us an encore." Mustang's clapping was loud. Obnoxiously loud, like his trademark smirk.

"Well, this is the last thing I expected to see you doing," Buccaneer said, his famous toothy grin widening. "The boys back at the fort will never believe this one."

"What the hell are you two doing here?" Olivier finally found her voice, but her face was still an embarrassing shade of pink. "Who do you think you are, Mustang, to come barging into someone else's house? And  _you_!" She pointed at Buccaneer, her finger nearly shaking with rage. "You're supposed to be acting as commander of the fort in my place. How dare you desert your post! How can you even call yourself a soldier?"

"I'll have you know I did not barge in. I knocked on the door and your butler let me in," Mustang replied, a bit put out.

"And I didn't desert my post, Miss Armstrong-"

"That's  _General_ Armstrong, or have you forgotten?" Olivier bristled. Buccaneer may have been her closest friend and most trusted comrade, but he was still just a captain.

"Actually, now that you're on vacation, Fuhrer Grumman gave me permission to treat you as my equal. See, he sent for me and asked that Henschel replace me as commander. Now he wants me to act as your bodyguard until you return, or at least until the end of your pregnancy. And he said that until your vacation is up, you are no longer my superior, only my responsibility, since apparently you giving me orders would violate the terms of your vacation." He chuckled. "So I get to call you whatever I want."

Olivier paused. "Wait just a minute. Fuhrer Grumman is forcing you to stay in Central for the year with me? The whole year?"

Buccaneer shrugged. "Well if need be I can go back after you give birth. But yeah, he said he wanted to make sure you were well protected since you're a common military target and Central City is dangerous. Plus you're carrying his great-grandchild and you'll be in a more vulnerable state-"

"That  _idiot_!" Olivier yelled, balling her hands into fists. "The nerve of him, rearranging my fort behind my back! Why doesn't he come talk to me face to face and I'll show him  _exactly_  how capable I am, pregnant or not!"

"Careful now." Mustang raised his eyebrows. "He is the Fuhrer. If he hears your kind words about him, you may be in trouble."

"I don't care. That man needs to stop poking his nose into other people's business. I don't need a bodyguard; I can take care of myself. And how does he expect Briggs to hold up with me, Miles  _and_ Buccaneer gone?"

Buccaneer put his metal hand on his hip. "Come on, you really think I would have left the fort if I didn't think they'd be okay? We crushed Drachma so badly last month I doubt they'll be back for a long time. And the new recruits we got last year have been learning fast; Henschel and Karley are almost as efficient as Miles and me. I'll be checking in with them from time to time just to make sure, but trust me, we have nothing to worry about."

Olivier ignored him, gnashing her teeth. "I can't stand Grumman. First he coerces me into getting pregnant with his granddaughter's bratty child and now this? He'll be sorry when I kick him out of office and take his throne for myself!"

"Ooh, treasonous, aren't we?" Mustang teased. "I may just have to tell him you said that."

"You go right ahead and do that, Mustang. Hell knows you'd never be able to gain favor by merit. Get out of my house, asshole."

Roy didn't move. "Actually, I had something important to talk to you about. You're about halfway through your fifth week, right?"

Olivier crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him, choosing not to answer.

"You have to go to the doctor no later than eight weeks and they book up fast so you need to schedule an appointment as soon as you can. Just thought I'd let you know."

Buccaneer made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. He turned to Olivier. He pointed to Mustang. "Wait…is he the-"

"Yup!" Mustang grinned at Buccaneer, knowing that Briggs men could be trusted. "I'm gonna be a proud papa!"

"Just get out of here, you twit!" Olivier spat. "I don't need scum like you telling me to go to a doctor. I feel fine and there's nothing wrong with me. I'll decide when I go or if I go."

Buccaneer bit back a laugh. "So let me get this straight. General Armstrong is pregnant with Colonel Mustang's kid?"

"Awfully quick on the draw, aren't you, Bucktooth?" Olivier retorted, knowing if she used his hated nickname it would get to him. For all that Buccaneer was popular at Briggs, there were plenty of people who enjoyed thinking up ways to irritate him.

His smile vanished, then quickly reappeared. "Don't call me that unless you want me calling you Fat-Lipped Floozy. The recruits made up insulting nicknames for you too."

Olivier growled. She could see her subordinate was quite enjoying treating her as his equal.  _Damn_ that Grumman. When she became Fuhrer, he was getting demoted for sure. Maybe all the way down to private.

"Fat-Lipped Floozy? That's genius!" Mustang laughed. "I can't believe I never thought of it."

"Watch it, Mustang. You seem to have forgotten I  _am_ carrying your child, so unless you want me to take a tumble down the stairs and get rid of it, you'd better shut up."

Mustang cleared his throat and replaced his goofy expression with a serious one. "All right, all right. Just please promise me you'll find a doctor soon. It's important."

"I told you, I feel fine. I don't need a doctor."

Mustang held up his hands. "Armstrong, with respect, you do need a doctor. We have to make sure the baby's okay. Please, we don't want anything to happen to this one."

"I'll see what I can do."

Mustang fished a card out of his pocket. "Here," he handed it to her. "This is the doctor Riza went to, she says he's very good. Give him a call when you get the chance."

She snatched the card from him and crushed it under her tap shoe. "I can find a doctor myself. Now if that's all you wanted to say, then show yourself out."

Mustang raised his hands in defense and backed toward the door. "All right, I'm gone. I must say, it was lovely to see you again Armstrong, and your home is as grand as ever."

"Just get out." For once, he listened. Buccaneer saluted him and turned back to her, wearing that stupid smirk again.

"Wow. Not only does our Queen sing and dance, but she got pregnant by, out of all the men in the world, Colonel Mustang."

"It's not like that and you know it. This isn't my child, it's Riza Hawkeye's. And I'll admit I used to sing and dance when I was much younger, but I rarely do it anymore."

"That's a shame. You were really good. I can't wait to tell the men about it."

"You're not going to tell the men about it. I don't care what Grumman told you, I'm still your superior and you still owe me your respect,  _Captain_ Buccaneer."

He scratched his head. "Ya know, now that we're equals, you can drop the rank. Ya know, keep it a bit more casual."

Olivier's glare remained plastered to her face. "Fine. What's your first name?" She'd known it at some time, but had long since forgotten. She'd even forgotten Miles's first name. Little details like those just weren't important when she had so much more pressing information to remember.

"Nah, don't use my first name. Just call me Buccaneer. Without the rank." He grinned. "Can I call you Olivier?"

"No."

He frowned. "Aw, why not? Do I really have to address you as Miss Armstrong every single time?"

"It's  _General_  Armstrong."

"Not anymore. Now I'm just your bodyguard."

"I don't need to be reminded of that," she snapped, kicking her tap shoes off and flinging them into a corner.

"Does that mean you're not gonna dance anymore?" Buccaneer gestured to the tap shoes, sounding disappointed.

"I'm going out. And bodyguard or not, if you try to follow me, you'll lose the only flesh-and-blood arm you've got left." She shoved him out of the way and left the ballroom.

Buccaneer grinned. For whatever reason, he loved seeing her get mad. It was a dangerous enjoyment, but he couldn't help himself. When her cheeks puffed out and her lips pursed, she was so… _cute_.

Whether she welcomed it or not, the thought of getting to spend time with his Queen away from Briggs and out of uniform made him happy. And seeing her spinning around and clicking her feet like that, with her hair swirling around her…he didn't even know what to call it. She'd looked almost divine. And that  _voice_! At first he'd searched the room with his eyes to make sure there wasn't a music player and she wasn't lip-synching; she sounded so perfect. The voice of an angel for sure.

He only hoped that while he was there, he could find a way to get her to do it again.


	8. War of the Words

"Olivier! We want to try the melodies now. Olivier, where are- Captain Buccaneer?" Amue stopped short upon seeing the bear of a man standing in the ballroom. He turned around and did a double take, as everyone did when they saw her for the first time.

"What are you doing here?" She remembered him from the pictures in the paper and had caught fleeting glimpses of him when the troops had been stashed in the cellar, but had never actually met the man.

"Uh, I was just looking for the general." He swallowed his momentary shock at Amue's appearance and cleared his throat. He'd heard the stories about the two big Armstrong girls, but hadn't believed them to be true. Now he thought they didn't do justice. "Fuhrer Grumman sent me here to act as her bodyguard. I did knock on the door; your butler recognized me and let me in."

"You're her bodyguard?" Amue asked, puzzled. "What for? Is she going somewhere dangerous?" She hoped not. Olivier hadn't even been there long.

"Nah, it's just a matter of protecting a high-ranked officer. Ya know, since she's pregnant and all. In fact, she was just here, but she left."

Amue groaned. "I wish she wouldn't do that. We need her to practice with us."

"Practice for what?" Buccaneer asked.

"Ah, Captain! We certainly weren't expecting to see you here." And in flounced Alex, sans shirt and sparkles galore. If he hadn't been a major, Buccaneer would have rolled his eyes. Did he really have to do that all the time?

"Actually, I'll be in Central for quite some time," he replied, frowning. It was so strange having to look up at someone instead of down. That was the other reason he wasn't a big fan of Alex, although his older sister almost dwarfed him. How in the world Olivier ended up the size she was, he would never know.

"Splendid! Why don't you join us for lunch? If Olivier's run off somewhere, we can't practice anyway."

"Thanks sir, but that's okay. I'm not all that-"

"Excellent! I'll tell Mother and Father we have a guest," Amue dashed off, leaving Buccaneer standing there awkwardly with a shirtless man.

"She doesn't need to do that, I was just-"

"Oh, it's such an honor to share a good meal with one of my sister's loyal soldiers! You men are so brave!" And before Buccaneer could run, Alex had him in a crushing hug, complete with tears of joy. Buccaneer tensed and growled, trying to pull away. Of all the Armstrong siblings, why did the  _man_  have to be the one with the hug fetish?  _It'd be nice if my Queen gave out hugs like this_. He smiled a little at the thought. He would gladly take a crushing hug from her any day.

"Thanks Major. You can let go now." Buccaneer barely managed to keep a respectful tone. Not only were Alex's hugs extremely suffocating, but being hugged by another guy was just weird. He wasn't a homophobe by any means, but personally the thought of touching another man grossed him out.

"Allow me to escort you to our dining room!" Buccaneer was thankful he couldn't feel Alex's hand as he grabbed his right arm and yanked him down the corridor.

* * *

In the end, Buccaneer had to admit he was glad he'd stuck around the mansion. He hadn't tasted food like this in years, and he'd forgotten good coffee even existed. The best part about the food was that there was so much of it. Usually he had to eat in a hurry due to his strict work schedule and could never get enough. This was the first time since he could remember that he didn't have to rush and was actually full afterwards. He'd had a bit of trouble figuring out the additional cutlery, but the Armstrongs had been nice about it and kindly explained it to him. He guessed they were used to people not eating like them.

After lunch was over, he stood up, thanked them, and told them he needed to get to his apartment to finish unpacking. After that the family went their separate ways and only Catherine was left. She'd been making goo-goo eyes at him all through the meal, which he'd ignored. Granted it was a nice change to have a girl interested in him instead of the other way around and she was certainly attractive, but there was at least a ten-year age difference between them and in his mind that made her too young for him. Besides that, she was too dainty looking, and judging from what little he'd learned about her in this short timespan, they didn't appear to have much in common anyway.

"I could help you unpack," she offered, bouncing up and down a bit. "I'm great at heavy lifting. Remember how I picked up the piano when I came down to eat? Even Olivier can't do that."

He made a face. The way she'd said Olivier's name made her sound like her sister was the devil incarnate. "No thanks, I'll be fine. I didn't bring a lot of stuff with me anyway." He moved toward the door, hoping she'd take the hint and go away.

"You must hate working for her," Catherine said, her eyes glistening with sympathy. "She's so mean and heartless. I keep telling her to be nicer to you poor soldiers, but she refuses. She's just determined to make all of you suffer. I don't know how you stand it."

That was doubtful, considering Buccaneer knew Olivier seldom spoke to her family. "It's not that bad," he told her. "I've been in the military a long time so I've had a bunch of commanding officers, and she's the best out of all of them. To be honest, I don't think I've ever met anyone so smart and strong."

"She's not as strong as I am," Catherine replied quickly, her voice rising. "I could beat her in a fight no problem. And she's not all that smart either. I remember one time when she was in school, she got a B on a test."

Buccaneer laughed. "That's still better than me. I hated school, I was lucky if I got D's."

"Maybe that's because you were too busy being handsome," Catherine sighed. "What kind of girls did you like?"

Buccaneer had almost made it out the door when her last question stopped him. He didn't like where this conversation was going. Maybe he could steer her away from him gently by telling the truth.

"I guess girls like your sister. Smart, tough, independent, attractive-"

"She's NOT attractive!" He almost jumped; Catherine's tone was just under a shout. "She's not pretty at all! Her lips make her look like a blowfish, her hair is always greasy and in her face, her skin is too pale, her nose is too long, her voice is too low, she's always glaring at people, and she's fat too!"

"What are you talking about?" Buccaneer almost jumped back. Was this girl bipolar or something? She'd gone from sweet and flirty to screaming banshee in seconds. "She's perfectly fine. She's not fat. Maybe she's not as skinny as you, but that's only because of the difference in your body types. And I like her lips and hair."  _And her chest. Especially her chest. And pretty much everything else about her._

"But why?" Catherine asked, reverting to her "sweet and innocent" mode again. "I think Olivier is just so-"

"Yes?" They both jumped at the icy voice from the corner. Olivier stood there, staring them down. "I'm just so  _what_?"

Catherine's eyelashes fluttered. "You're just so strict. With your soldiers, I mean. Poor Buccaneer, he told me he's been under your command twenty years. I don't know how he's still standing."

"Maybe because he's not a pathetic weakling like you."

"Oh, I'm not a weakling, Ollie-Em. If I wanted to, I could pick you up and throw you all the way across this room." Her tone was as gentle as ever, but Buccaneer swore he saw flames in both sisters' eyes. The way they looked at each other with such disgust was unnerving.  _Is something going on between them?_ He'd gathered that they weren't much alike, but he thought they'd at least be civil. Still, you never knew with Olivier.

Olivier reached behind her back and drew her sword. "I swear if you call me that one more time, you'll find yourself at the end of this blade." Buccaneer had a mind to tell Catherine her sister wasn't kidding; he'd seen her slice up new recruits many times for much smaller offenses, but he had a feeling if Olivier acted the same at home as she did at Briggs, her family probably already knew what she was capable of.

Catherine, however, seemed unfazed. "You wouldn't cut up our only soprano before the Ishval concert, would you?"

"That concert is not going to happen."

"What concert?" Buccaneer asked, puzzled.

Catherine turned back to him, all puppy-eyed again. "Our family wants to have a concert where we would all sing as a family to raise money for Ishval, but Olivier doesn't want us to. She's too busy thinking about her reputation to care about the poor people out in the desert."

"That is a lie and you know it!" Olivier shouted. "I merely said I didn't want to participate in the concert, not that I was against having it. The rest of you can do whatever you wish."

"You mean you're not going to sing with your family? But you're so good at it," Buccaneer said. "I'd pay plenty of money to see you onstage." He grinned. "And I bet the men would too."

"Oh, so you've heard her singing, have you?" Josephine cut in from the hallway and she quietly moved into the dining room. Buccaneer gawked. How on  _earth_  was a  _woman_ that tall? "She is quite talented, isn't she?"

"Mother, please stay out of this," Olivier said, trying to keep her tone calm and failing.

Josephine finger-combed her hair, which was pulled back into a tight bun, looking disinterested. "I'm not interfering in your affairs dear, I'm just agreeing with the captain. He's become a wonderful friend of the family."

He wanted to point out that he'd only just met them, but still Buccaneer smiled. Not many people considered him a friend.

"Oh, that's just perfect," Olivier snapped. "But even so, trying to turn him against me isn't going to work, Catherine. I'm not performing and that's final."

"Why not? You seemed like you were enjoying yourself," Buccaneer pointed out. He hoped he could sway her even if her family couldn't. He could just imagine watching his queen onstage, under spotlights and dressed up.  _That would be something…_

"I have a reputation to uphold and singing and dancing are silly activities."

"If that's true, then why did Mustang and I just see you doing both of them?"

"Mustang?" Josephine and Catherine asked. "Roy Mustang was here?" Olivier glowered at Buccaneer.

"Just go back to Briggs! You're making an annoying situation worse. I don't need you here so you might as well leave."

Buccaneer forced himself to keep his expression from changing. That hurt way more than it should have. "I'm not allowed to. Fuhrer's orders. We're stuck with each other whether we like it or not. Personally I don't mind a little break, despite the fact that I hate Central City and their pathetic excuses for soldiers."

"They're not pathetic!" Catherine protested. "Big Brother is strong! He's even stronger than you!" She glared and moved away from Buccaneer, much to his relief.

"Come now Catherine, I'm sure he wasn't including Alex in that description," Josephine said, to Buccaneer's relief. The major wasn't his favorite person, but he couldn't deny the man had been a valuable asset in the battle against the homunculi. "In fact, I'd like you to come with me now. It's almost time for your piano lesson."

"Of course Mother. It was so nice to meet you, Buccaneer!" The minute Josephine's back was turned, Catherine whirled around and gave her sister a very strong finger gesture, who returned it with equal force. Both soldiers were happy when the doors closed behind her.

Buccaneer turned back to Olivier. "In all seriousness, I think you should do it. You're infamous all over the country, much more so than they are. I get the feeling they've put a lot of effort into this and it'll let them down if you say no." When she remained stoic, he said, "I think this could give the Ishvalans more money than they've ever dreamed of. And say what you will, but I think that for all you belittle singing and dancing, you really do enjoy them."

Olivier crossed her arms over her chest and thought about that for a moment. It  _had_  been fun. Actually, it had been the most fun she'd had in a long time. But still, she'd only end up embarrassing herself and losing the respect she'd worked so hard to gain.

"You should know, Olivier-" she gave him a look. "Fine. Miss Armstrong. You should know that, well, they really do need money right now. In fact, I talked to Major Miles earlier this morning and he said their funding has been cut in half thanks to the racist pantywaists in the senior staff. Apparently Grumman hasn't managed to get rid of them yet."

"The concert could still bring in plenty of money without me. I don't see why you're so eager to take my family's side."

He grinned. "Why do you think? Like I said, I would love to see you onstage. I bet Mustang would come. And his crew. And maybe we could even get Miles over here. Come on, you've got a gift. You could use it for the greater good."

"I'm not exactly in a right mind to do good deeds right now, considering my latest good deed has taken away most of the things I enjoy in life," she said, frowning at her stomach. When she'd looked in the mirror this morning while dressing, she could have sworn she'd seen a tiny bump. It could have been her imagination or she could have just put on some weight from not exercising, but still it had been disturbing. Olivier was not ready to be showing yet.

"All right, here's my final plea. If you do the concert with your family, I'll do all the paperwork for a week when we get back."

Olivier tilted her head. "Tch. You'll have to do better than that."

He expected this. "Fine. Two weeks."

"Make it a month."

"Aw, come on!" Paperwork was their most hated enemy, even more so than Drachman spies. Neither of them had the desire, the attention span, or the ability to focus and sit still. Well Olivier did, but she still hated the tediousness of it. She never complained, but it was easy enough to tell by the fact that on the days where she didn't have to do any, she was always in a much better mood and was a smidge more tolerant.

"A month. Take it or leave it."

He growled. "Fine. A month."

"That's in addition to everything else you would have to do normally."

"You're really gonna make me work for this, aren't you?"

"You have to ask?"

"Fine, fine. A month of all the paperwork for you and me, plus everything else I would normally do." She smiled and his heart sank. "And let me guess, you're going to have me scraping icicles with the new recruits the first night back, aren't you?"

She smirked. "You do know me well." Then she rolled her eyes. "I suppose, if it will get everyone off my back and give me a month free of paperwork, I'll sing one or two songs. But only one or two!"

Buccaneer's toothy smile took up his entire face. "I can't wait."


	9. The Doctor Is In

Riza never looked more beautiful than when she first woke up in the morning, when the sunlight came through the blinds and radiated off her blonde hair and warm, golden brown eyes.  _Especially,_  Roy thought,  _if said morning is a morning after._

"Mm…you feeling up for another round?" Roy purred, stroking Riza's hair and moving closer to her.

"You enjoyed that, huh?" Riza smirked, caressing his smooth chest.

"Oh yeah." He kissed her and pulled her closer, wanting to feel her warmth, and snuggled deeper under the covers.

She let him engulf her in a hug and nuzzled his neck. "How  _much_  did you enjoy it?"

"Riza…" She smiled and closed her eyes, basking in the sensation of his lips all over her skin and his hands massaging her back.

He sighed. "Riza, let's just stay like this forever. Let's quit the military and never leave the house. It would be perfect…"

Riza snorted. "Though you'd like everyone to believe otherwise, you  _do_  have ambitions, Roy Mustang. Remember those? The ones where you strive to become the leader of our country and restore Ishval?"

"But having sex with you is so much more fun," he pouted. Riza giggled, knowing he was only half serious.

"Well, as fun as this is," Riza tousled his bedhead playfully. "I have to get ready to go."

"Go?" Roy sounded horrified and he tightened his hold on her. "You're leaving me? All alone in a cold bed and an empty house? How could you?"

She laughed. "It's eighty something degrees in the middle of June, this bed is far from cold. And you won't be in an empty house because you have to go to headquarters today to do your favorite thing in the whole wide world."

Roy smirked. "Really? I didn't know headquarters gave out free drinks," he joked.

Riza smacked his head. "You know what I meant. There's a whole stack of Ishval papers waiting just for you. And don't even think of slacking off. I've already told the others and Grandfather to stay on you until it's done."

"But…" Roy sighed. "I thought time off meant time off, not exchanging one hard job for another."

She placed a kiss on his nose before crossing the room to get dressed. "They need all the help I can get. Besides, I know you. You can't just sit around and neither can I."

Roy snuggled deeper into the pillow. "Wanna bet?"

"Roy. Get dressed."

Roy groaned. "And just what will you be doing while I'm slaving away and missing my beautiful wife?"

"I'm taking Olivier to her doctor's appointment."

" _What_?!" The comical tone of Roy's voice and his expression sent Riza into a fit of giggles. " _That's_  what you'll be doing? What the hell for?"

Riza's mouth fell open. "Because she's carrying our baby! I know you didn't forget that we're going to be parents in seven months."

"I know that, but why do you need to go with her? She's a big girl, let her go by herself. She'll probably bite your head off anyway."

"Actually, she needs someone to drive her. She doesn't have a license."

"Why not?" Roy was sulking now. It wasn't fair that Ice Bitch was getting to be with his wife instead of him.

"Because she was never in Central City long enough to get one or need one. She was only fourteen when she entered the academy. Plus her family employs drivers so she can just have them take her places."

Roy spread his arms. "Exactly! So I say again, why does she need you? I'm sure someone else can drive her."

Her smile vanished. "Roy, I want to be there. This is my child. If something's wrong, I want to know about it."

Roy walked over to her and cupped her cheek. "There won't be anything wrong. They said the procedure was a success. Everything will be fine."

"But what if it's not?" Riza's eyes flickered and her voice cracked just a tad, something only Roy would ever notice. "We lost two babies in a row, Roy. I don't think I can take losing another one."

"We won't," he insisted. When she was quiet for a moment, he tilted her chin up to make eye contact with her. "I mean it. Stop blaming yourself, it wasn't your fault."

"Every day is important in a pregnancy. I must have done  _something_ wrong. To lose one baby might have just been bad luck, but losing another one?"

Roy shook his head. "It wasn't. The doctor even said so. Nature just isn't perfect." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to think how to say what he'd been meaning to say for a while. "And Riza, please don't take this the wrong way, but I really don't think we need to have those memorials in the backyard. It's too much and it just brings back painful memories."

"They were inside my body." Riza's voice was flat and her face was stoic, the kind she used when she was trying to hide her emotions. Only Roy knew that the more emotional she was, the more unemotional she looked. "You wouldn't understand. They were alive. I felt them. There was no way in hell I was going to allow them to be flushed down the toilet or thrown out like garbage."

"All right." Roy knew better than to argue at this point. The scientist in him found it difficult to think of unborn fetuses as real people, but then he had to admit Riza was right. They had been inside her body, not his. He put his hand on her shoulder. "But don't worry. Third time's the charm. As long as Olivier doesn't screw up, you'll be holding our baby in your arms in no time. And I bet she'll be as beautiful as you."

"Or he," Riza said with a yawn. Her smile returned and she sat up, stretching. "I need to get going. I want to get her there early, she's probably nervous."

"Nervous?" Roy laughed. "General Armstrong?"

"Well, yeah. I certainly was when I went for the first time. Pregnant women have to be poked and prodded in all kinds of ways."

Roy grabbed a shirt off his dresser and flicked her with it. "Pft. Believe me, there is no way that Olivier Armstrong is nervous about a simple doctor's appointment."

* * *

Olivier Armstrong was nervous as hell about her doctor's appointment.

So nervous that she couldn't eat and hadn't slept for a moment the night before. When she'd stumbled into a hot shower that morning, her knees had almost been shaking.

Olivier hated having to go to a doctor for any reason ever. Doctors got in your private business and stabbed you with needles and insisted on knowing everything about you and seeing everything you had to offer. It almost seemed like a suspicious profession. Who would take a job where you had to touch total strangers in intimate places and ask them questions about things that were so personal? She liked the one at Briggs, but still only sought treatment if absolutely necessary. Unfortunately she'd been forced to go on Riza's recommendation this time since she needed a doctor fairly soon and wasn't familiar with any of the practices in Central. The Armstrong family doctor had gone to Ishval to treat some of the wounded.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?" Josephine placed her hand on Olivier's shoulder as she slipped on her shoes. "It's no trouble at all and I'm sure Lieutenant Hawkeye won't mind."

"I'm not a child. I don't need you to hold my hand and bribe me with lollipops."

"Of course not, but I can tell you're anxious and I thought maybe I could help. I did go through the exact same thing five times."

"I'm not anxious." Olivier glanced out the enormous foyer window for the fiftieth time. Still no Riza.

"Honey, you paced the floor back and forth exactly forty-three times while the servants were bringing out your breakfast. I know because I counted. And then when they brought you your breakfast, you didn't eat any."

"I'll be fine, Mother." Olivier ran a hand through her hair, shoving it out of her face. "I'll admit I don't enjoy going to the doctor, but I'll get on with it. Though to be honest, I don't think it's necessary."

"Oh, but it is. In fact, the first visit is probably the most important one you'll have."

Olivier began to pace again without realizing she was doing it. "I should have looked around for a better doctor. I don't like being stuck with this man."

Josephine raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with him? If Lieutenant Hawkeye is fond of him, he can't be that bad."

"I don't want a man looking at me like that," Olivier admitted, pushing her hair back again.

Josephine put an arm around her shoulders. "Olivier, this is one of the best obstetricians in Central. He sees hundreds of women every day and his practice has been there for years. I'm sure he'll be gentle as a lamb and that he will see you as no more than another patient."

"He'd better, or I'll make sure to bring my sword to my next appointment." A car horn beeped outside. "It's about time Riza showed up." She sighed wearily. "I'll be back as soon as I can get out of there."

"Take your time, dear. It'll all be fine, you'll see." Josephine smiled at her firstborn, watching her trudge down the long driveway.

"She looks just like I did when I was pregnant with her," she said to herself, resting her chin in her palm and smiling.

* * *

"You're going to love this doctor, Olivier. He's so friendly." Riza assured her, cruising the car into the crowded parking lot. "He actually made me look forward to going to appointments."

Olivier doubted that. Friendly people annoyed her, especially if they were doctors. "I still don't trust the idea of a male OB/GYN. Any man who says he wants to pursue a career in female anatomy must have an ulterior motive."

"You have nothing to worry about. He's funny and sweet and has a gentle touch. The first visit is a little tedious but all the ones after that are fairly short." Riza switched off the ignition and turned to Olivier with a gentle smile. "I know it sounds crazy, but you might even enjoy it. There are some exciting parts. We'll get to know the due date and you'll have your first ultrasound."

_Great. Just what I've always dreamed of. "_ Let's just get this over with." She climbed out of the car and slammed the door, stalking towards the entrance and leaving Riza scampering to catch up with her.

Waiting rooms were horrible places. Olivier put her hands over her ears to block out the noise of screaming, obnoxious children roughhousing in the play area. There was a sizable selection of different magazines to choose from, but there were two things they all had in common: none of them were current and none of them looked interesting. The armrests of the chair she was in were so close together they almost touched her sides, there was no headrest, and the bottom was hard. She fidgeted restlessly and kept her eyes glued to the clock.

Riza looked up from her magazine. She put her hand on Olivier's shoulder. "Don't be so nervous. It'll be fine."

"I'm not nervous," she lied. She pointed to the kids. "Why are they here? "I thought this was supposed to be a doctor for adults."

Riza winced a little at Olivier's harsh tone. She had been smiling fondly at the kids a moment before. "A lot of the women who come here are mothers and they have to bring their children with them."

Olivier stared in disgust at a purple-faced boy who was screeching his head off. "I can't fathom why people  _want_ to have these brats."

Riza shrugged and returned to her magazine. "Maybe someday you'll understand."

"Humph." Olivier leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to just relax and not listen to the noise around her. She felt a hand tugging insistently on her sleeve and gripped the armrest hard. "Do you mind, Hawkeye?" She couldn't bear calling Riza by Mustang's name.

"What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything."

Olivier opened her eyes and started. The hand belonged to a little girl who was smiling up at her.

Olivier snarled. "Beat it, kid."

The little girl stood on her tiptoes and pointed to a ball resting in a corner. "Can you throw that ball for us? We need a tall person."

"No." Olivier smacked the girl's hand away. In a second, the girl was screaming at the top of her lungs, attracting the attention of everyone in the waiting room.

"Hey lady! What'd you do to my kid?" a very pregnant woman waddled over and leaned over her. Her bump was almost right in Olivier's face. "You got somethin' to say?"

Olivier stared at the bump for a second and groaned internally. In a few months that would be her. She pushed the woman away and met her glare with one of her own. "You should learn to watch your children and teach them not to disturb other people."

"Don't you tell me what to do! You have no right to hit my daughter!"

"Then how about I hit you instead?" Olivier stood up and met the woman's eyes. Riza started to shoot out of her chair when someone called, "Olivier Armstrong?" Riza practically dragged Olivier over to the nurse and into the examining room, and Olivier decided to teach the little girl a new finger gesture as she walked away.

"Here she is," Riza shoved her towards the nurse and Olivier stiffened, making a note to knock Riza's assertiveness down a few pegs.

"Doctor Dodo will be with you in just a moment. In the meantime you can come on back to his office and wait."

Olivier paused. "What did you say his name was?"

"Dr. Dodo. You know, like the extinct bird?"

"My doctor's name is  _Dodo?_  That's not very reassuring," she said, directing her chilly tone at Riza.

She shrugged. "It's just his name. I promise you he's very nice." She followed Olivier and the nurse into a big room with complicated medical equipment set up. In the middle was a large adjustable chair that was reclined all the way back.

"You can go ahead and sit down, Miss Armstrong. He'll be right in."

Riza sat in one of the chairs against the wall while Olivier settled herself uneasily in the big one. To her annoyance, her fingers were rubbing together on their own, a sure sign she was anxious.

"I remember my first visit," Riza said. "I had no idea what to expect. But luckily he breaks the ice right away and he's good about not making the intimate parts awkward."

"Intimate parts? Like what?" Olivier was secretly glad Riza had wanted to go with her. It was reassuring to know another woman would be there, even if she wasn't thrilled about a lower-ranked officer seeing her in a vulnerable state. She hated not knowing what she was getting into. On one of her trips to the library, she had started to research pregnancy and obstetrics, but the material had been so gross and gruesome even she couldn't stomach it.

Riza's tone was light. "Like when he does the Pap smear and the ultrasound. That kind of thing."

"He's doing a Pap smear?" Olivier tried to keep the apprehension out of her voice. The logical part of her knew it was a perfectly practical procedure, but the other part of her screamed that no one should be allowed to do something like that to a woman.

Riza nodded, oblivious to Olivier's inner turmoil. "Yeah, it's a standard thing for pregnant women." She smiled sympathetically. "I know, I didn't like it either. I don't think any woman does."

Olivier barely muffled a groan. Pap Smears were the worst, even when women did them. If Olivier had to choose between getting shot or getting a Pap Smear, she would have taken the bullet in a second. You could be proud of a bullet wound.

"Do you want me to leave during that part?" Riza asked. "I can come back when he starts the ultrasound."

Olivier shrugged, pretending not to care. "Do whatever you like."

Riza started to say something, but was cut off by the door opening. A tall, gawky man with orange curly hair and pale blue eyes stepped in. A waft of what smelled like onion rings sailed in with him and assaulted Olivier's nose. In fact, she was just now realizing how awful the room smelled. Like a cross between antiseptic, onion rings, and sickeningly sweet sugar. It was making her stomach churn.

"Hello there. My name is Doctor Stanley Dodo." She nearly cringed at the high pitch.  _How does a man have that voice?_ He sounded like Alphonse Elric and Catherine had a baby _._ But she stood up and shook his hand regardless.

"Sorry about the wait, I was just finishing up my lunch." He swiftly handed her a crinkled bag, almost shoving it in her face. So that was where the smell had come from. "Would you like some?"

Olivier didn't even have a chance to say no before the stench overpowered her. She did, however, get a good look at Dr. Dodo's dirty white shoes as whatever remained of last night's dinner came rising back up into her throat and pouring out of her mouth. Chunks of what she guessed were pineapple clung to her hair and landed on her clothing.

"So I'm guessing you're already experiencing morning sickness."

Olivier closed her eyes and moaned, holding her stomach.

This visit was not starting out well.


	10. Surprise on the Sonogram

Olivier stared blankly at the mirror in the bathroom, letting her hair drape into the sink so the chunks of vomit could be washed off. Her face was even paler than usual and her cheeks looked a little green. Her stomach was in knots and her mouth tasted awful. All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed under a massive pile of blankets with a heating pad and a tall glass of water and sleep. She hadn't had morning sickness once during her whole pregnancy, but of course now that she was at a public place that she couldn't leave right away and was meeting her doctor for the first time, naturally  _now_ would be the time for her to start.

 _It's not too late to back out, right?_ She thought, moaning again. That vomit had come out of nowhere. Usually when she was going to throw up she knew about it beforehand, but this had been so sudden she'd barely had time to bend over. Dr. Dodo was going to need a new pair of shoes. And she was probably going to need a new doctor, since she had probably caused him to form the worst possible impression of her, what with her projecting already-digested food onto his feet without so much as a how-do-you-do.

"Olivier?" Riza's voice was barely audible over the sound of running water. "Are you okay?"

"I'm wonderful, why wouldn't I be?" she barked. She switched off the water and sighed. The smell still lingered and the ends of her hair and clothes were wet, but she was about as presentable as she could be in this situation. Best get the rest of the visit over with so she could go home and sleep.

"Are we all better and ready to go?" Dr. Dodo asked as she emerged from the restroom. His shoes had been wiped clean, but there were still spots of orange and he smelled almost as bad as she did. Funnily enough, he didn't seem upset. Maybe when you were a doctor, you stopped being sensitive to things like vomit.

"Fine." Olivier ran a hand through her hair, wishing her stomach would stop aching. "Just make this quick."

Dr. Dodo snapped his fingers. "Don't you worry, it'll be faster than a runaway roach." God, he sounded like a clown. "Just sit down right there and I'll ask you about your health. Then we'll get to the physical stuff. Hopefully you'll be feeling better by then."

Olivier wrinkled her nose a bit. He had a funny accent that she couldn't place. Cretan maybe? She was surprised he was still being friendly; if she'd been in his shoes (literally), she would have been pissed. She returned to the big chair, Riza taking the smaller one beside her. Dr. Dodo grabbed a clipboard and ran over a sheet of paper with a pen.

"First off, you've never been pregnant before, right?"

"No." Olivier eyed the myriad of equipment in the room. What in the world was all of this used for?

"Any STIs or STDs?"

"No. And before you ask, I'm not sexually active. Haven't been for years." Riza raised an eyebrow at that one, which Olivier tried to ignore. Commanding a fort didn't leave her with a lot of time for getting laid, and it wasn't particularly something she missed.

Dr. Dodo scribbled away on his clipboard. "Any symptoms been sneakin' up on you? Besides morning sickness, I mean."

Olivier shook her head. "No. That was the first time I've been sick."

"Oh, it was?" He raised an orange eyebrow. "So you're a nervous nelly then, huh?"

Olivier rolled her eyes. "No! Although I will admit I'm not happy to be here."

"Aw come on, I'm not that bad," he joked. "I'm a nice guy."

"We'll see about that," Olivier said.

He grinned. "Yes we will. Have you sprung any leaks?"

Olivier made a face. "What?"

"Has anything leaked from your vagina?" Riza asked bluntly.

 _Why would he ask it like that?_ "No, nothing."

"Alright, good." From the way the clipboard was turned, Olivier could see his chicken scratch handwriting. It was even worse than Buccaneer's. "Any allergies?"

"No."

"Special medical conditions that you've been diagnosed with?"

"No."

"Have you ever been a victim of abuse?"

 _Well I have been stabbed and shot by Drachman spies on more than one occasion._ But she knew he meant domestic abuse, so again she told him no.

"And are you mentally competent?"

Olivier scoffed. "What do you think, idiot?" Riza cringed. Dr. Dodo laughed.

"Sorry, I have to ask that. The clipboard demands it."

"Are there any other ridiculous questions like that one?"

"Now I have to ask you about your menstrual cycle."

"What about it?" she asked guardedly. Olivier hated any mention of Aunt Flo. Women had been denied the right to participate in combat for too long because of it.

Dr. Dodo talked with his hands. "Well, what's it like? Are you regular? Is your flow light or heavy? That kind of thing."

Olivier huffed. This was never a pleasant thing to talk about with a man. Especially one that insisted on acting goofy. He was reminding her of Mustang and she didn't like that. "It's irregular, I never know when the damn thing will show up. Every time I think I know, I'm proven wrong. I'm normally fairly heavy and only bleed for about five days. After that it's spotting, if anything, for the next two days." The one good thing about getting pregnant was that she hadn't seen it for two months.

Dr. Dodo nodded. "That's what I hear from a lot of my patients. Something about bleeding for a week a month and getting bloated breasts and bellyaches that doesn't sit well with the ladies. Now, last question. How are you feeling in general? Any complaints, worries, questions?"

Olivier didn't mince words. "When does the thing come out and how bad will it hurt?"

"We'll find that out when we do the ultrasound. As to how much it will hurt, that depends on the size of the baby, how healthy you are, that sort of thing. Anything else?"

"Are there any vitamins she can take or anything like that to make sure the baby's healthy?" Riza asked. Olivier glared at her. Riza wasn't her mother.

"Yes, I plan to give you some prescription prenatal vitamins after the visit. Take one every day with a meal. Now if there are no more questions or concerns, I'm going to check your blood pressure. Just hold still while my instrument gives your arm a good hug." Olivier wanted to punch that idiotic smile off his face.

Olivier lay back and tried to relax as he wrapped the padding tightly around her arm. She hated the way Riza and the doctor were staring at her. It was too awkward. She kept her gaze on the ceiling and tried to ignore the squeezing motion on her arm. She wondered why these people couldn't just be satisfied with checking the copies of her medical records at Central Command.

"Mm, everything looks good. Now we need to check your weight and I need to collect a urine sample from you. Then we'll do the Pap Smear and the ultrasound."

Olivier barely stifled a groan. "Is a Pap Smear necessary?"

"Yes, it's essential unless you just recently had one. When was your last?"

"A year ago," Olivier answered, her heart sinking.

"Then yes, you're going to need it. Don't worry, it won't take long. I do them every day, several times a day. I know vaginas like the back of my hand."

Olivier shot a glare at him, not amused by his weak attempt at humor, and stepped on the scale he gestured to after removing her shoes.

"Hmm. Not bad, but it seems you're just a bit underweight. That's not good for you or the baby. Eat some of that chocolate you girls like so much."

Olivier hated chocolate and hated him for assuming otherwise. "I'm already going to gain weight just from being pregnant, why do I need more?" It wouldn't do to have too much fat on her when she returned to Briggs.

He wagged a finger. "It's vital for any pregnant woman to be at just the right weight for her size, Miss Armstrong. Have you been doing any strenuous exercise?"

"Just walking. That's all."

"How long?"

"A couple of hours. It varies."

Riza bit her lip. Dr. Dodo shook his head. "That's way too much. You need to cut back to about one hour, two max. And it's important for you to eat right too. Lots of fruits, vegetables, grains, water and yogurt. Obviously no alcohol, no refrigerated meat, nothing with raw eggs, no fish, no more than twelve ounces of coffee per day, and no lettuce or cabbage. The important thing is resting and not exerting too much energy."

"I can assure you the energy I exerted while walking was a small fraction of what my body can do."

"Ah, the alpha female type, huh? I had a feeling." Dr. Dodo had a wide gap between his two front teeth that was painfully obvious whenever he smiled, which was nearly every second. He lived up to his name quite well. He reached out to pat her stomach and she bristled. "When you give that up, you can go right back to working yourself silly. But right now you've got a fragile little soul in there and it can't handle being bounced around too much."

Olivier scowled.

"You've only got seven more months," Riza reminded her, though her tone was forced. "It'll be over before you know it."

"That's easy for you to say, considering you can still go and do as you please." Olivier shot her a glare. Her stomach was still in a tizzy and her bad mood was growing worse.

* * *

Several more questions and an extremely awkward urine sample later, the dreaded moment came.

"Shall we get to the Pap Smear?" Dr. Dodo asked. The way he said it made it sound as though the procedure was something to look forward to. Not that he would ever know, considering he was always standing in front of the examining table and never lying on top of it.

"Fine." Olivier gritted her teeth as he turned to his tools lying on the counter. Riza sat back down and averted her eyes as Olivier began to undress from the waist down. When the lower part of her body was fully exposed, Olivier awkwardly sat down on the cold metal table, crinkling the white sheet that had been placed over it. Just for a second, Riza glanced to her, and at the sight of her reaction to seeing her naked, Olivier wanted to smack her, and she wished she'd taken Riza up on her offer to leave. She snatched the sheet Dr. Dodo had started to hand her and placed it over her legs, not wanting him to see any more than was necessary.

"You really don't like this, do you, Miss Armstrong?"

 _It's General Armstrong._ "What was your first clue?"

"Hey, come on. At least it's better than going to the dentist and having your teeth pulled. Right?"

"Like hell it is. I'd much prefer having someone's hand in my mouth than between my legs."

He shrugged. "Fair enough. This won't take long though, I promise. Just put your feet into the stirrups for me and I'll make it quick and dirty. But not that kind of dirty," he said, winking his eye. Riza giggled. Olivier rolled her eyes.

There they were. The dreaded stirrups. She slowly scooted down and lifted her legs, careful not to let the sheet fall off, and bent her knees so that the lower portion of her legs and feet would fit into the cold metal, hating the way she could feel herself opening up as she did so. She winced as Dr. Dodo carefully inserted the rubber duckbill-like tool that would keep her folds spread. This position was so foreign to her and "uncomfortable" did not even begin to describe it. And to top it off, the room was freezing and she was getting a draft where she shouldn't have.

"That's a good girl. Now just relax and try to think about something else."

That was quite possibly the most useless advice Olivier had ever heard. How could she ignore the fact that a strange  _man_ was touching the most private part of her and putting something inside her? Her heartbeat increased. She hadn't had sex in years, what if he was too forceful and damaged something? She tensed as his hands slid between her legs and under the sheet, prodding the spot where she assumed her uterus was.

His head popped up from behind the sheet. "Sweetheart,  _relax_. I promise you I'm very careful. If you're tensed up it's only going to feel worse. Just lie still and leave all the work to me."

Much as she loathed him for it, Olivier knew he was right. She scrunched her eyes tight and took a deep breath, attempting to focus on relaxing her pelvic muscles.  _Stop being a baby, it's just a little pressure. You've been through much worse._ The doctor at Briggs was used to her dreading her yearly physical and over the years had managed to develop just the right touch so that Olivier almost didn't even feel it. She sorely missed that now.

"This'll just take a second…" Olivier lifted her head and craned her neck, but she couldn't see what he was doing over the sheet spread across her legs. She wanted to see the speculum, know what she was up against. And to make sure he wasn't putting anything  _else_ inside her. But she couldn't, so she laid her head back and sighed. Her eyes snapped open when she felt a hand squeeze hers. Riza was smiling softly at her. It was then Olivier noticed she had gorgeous eyes.  _That Mustang prick is getting so much more than he deserves._

"It'll be okay," she said softly. "And thank you."

Olivier snatched her hand away, furious that Riza was seeing her act weak. This would kill her reputation if it ever got out. "Of course it will be okay. It's just a routine physical," she muttered.

"Even so, I get that it's uncomfortable.

"Don't worry ladies, it'll be over in just a minute. Now relax, and…" Olivier returned her gaze to the ceiling.

"Here comes the train! Choo-choo! Into the tunnel!" He looked up and froze as he locked eyes with two women who looked like they would love nothing more than to eat him for breakfast.

Olivier pushed herself up with her arms and made him look her in the eye. "Just. Put. The stick. In my vagina already, and  _be done with it_! Halfwit."

He looked sheepish. "Sorry, just a little joke I use to lighten the mood." A few minutes of uncomfortable pressure later, the Pap Smear was finally done and Olivier dressed herself as fast as possible while Riza and Dr. Dodo talked prenatal vitamins in the hallway.

"Please tell me we're finished here." Olivier said when she was fully clothed again. She still wasn't feeling much better. The room smelled awful and made her feel trapped. It was tiny, barely bigger than a prison cell, and the walls were an ugly orange-cream color. The pictures on the wall that showcased parts of the body ravaged with disease and the boxes of needles weren't helping.

"Now we just have to do the ultrasound and then you can go. Just lie back on the chair and pull your shirt up for me. I promise you this will be painless."

"See to it that you treat me like an adult this time, or I won't be able to say the same for you," Olivier said, settling herself in the chair, glaring as he connected wires and pressed buttons, readying the machines. She'd just gotten dressed and now she had to be half-naked again.  _This is probably why he's grinning like a fool all the time._

Riza was focused on the sonogram. Her heart jumped. Ultrasounds brought up bad memories for her.  _Please let this one be healthy and make it through the pregnancy. Please._

"Ready?" Dr. Dodo asked. They both nodded. He squirted the gel onto Olivier's stomach. She shivered a bit from the cold and he gently pushed the scanner through it. Instantly an image appeared and the two women strained to see it. After the scanner was moved around a bit and the picture changed, all three of them gasped.

"Please tell me that's not what I think it is," Olivier groaned.

Riza covered her mouth. "No way. That can't be. This…this can't be happening." Her lip quivered and she felt her eyes begin to water. "There has to be some mistake. Are you sure your machine is right, Doctor?"

"I'm afraid it is what it is, ladies. Nothing I can do about it," he shrugged. He turned to Olivier. "I assume you can tell what that picture means too?"

Olivier snarled, frustrated. "It's fairly obvious. I knew this was a bad idea."

She regretted saying yes more now than ever.


	11. Family Joy

The heavy doors of the Armstrong mansion were flung open before Buccaneer could even finish knocking. "Ooh, Captain! Please come in!" He grimaced as Catherine yanked him through the huge doors of the mansion. That glint in her eyes was back and he didn't like it.  _I thought it was the butler's job to answer the door._ He bit his lip at the dirt that fell from his shoes, staining the pristine carpets, but Catherine didn't seem to mind.

"Is your sister home yet? I wanted to see how her doctor's appointment went." It wasn't hard to know Olivier hated any form of medical treatment. More soldiers were put on trash and icicle shifts during the week everyone had their annual physical than any other time of the year. And the one time she'd fallen into a freezing lake (it was in the summer when the snow was slushy and ice was thinner), she'd avoided the doctor to the last second, despite her entire body turning blue and her being unable to stop shivering. The doctor had given her a very stern lecture, saying if Miles and Buccaneer hadn't practically shoved her into sickbay when they did, she could have been paralyzed or gotten pneumonia.

Catherine hung on his arm. "Why are you so worried about  _her_? I'm sure it went fine, and no, she's not home yet. But I'd be happy to keep you company until she arrives. And maybe after too." She fluttered her eyelashes. Buccaneer searched for the words to say no. It was getting increasingly hard not to blush. Her tone was so sweet and she was so  _tiny_. If it weren't for her crazy strength and trademark Armstrong curl and sparkles, he would have sworn she was adopted.

"Uh…look kid, I think you've got the wrong idea. I'm not really interested in-"

"Come on, I'll fix you some tea!" Buccaneer was grateful she'd grabbed his left arm; if it had been his right the pulling would have hurt a lot. He muffled a groan as she dragged him through the parlor/living room/whatever the hell it was. Nothing was out of place and portraits of people with huge builds, blonde hair in crazy up-dos, and blue eyes lined the striped walls. He almost squinted from how bright and colorful the mansion was.  _Maybe the reason they sparkle is because they've got all these chandeliers shining on them all the time. But at least there's plenty of elbowroom._

Catherine snapped her fingers, and instantly a maid materialized out of nowhere. A grin tugged at his lips when he realized the female servants here wore the stereotypical black dresses with white aprons and bonnets. It was demeaning, but rather sexy. If Olivier wore one of those French maid outfits- not that she ever would, but if she did:  _wow_. He doubted he'd have the self-control he normally did. Take away the glare and she'd look just like a doll. A very sexy doll. One he'd want to play with all night long…

"Buccaneer?" Catherine frowned. He broke out of his daze and looked back at her. She was holding out a teacup. "Here you go."

"Oh. Thanks. But I really can't stay, I have to check in with the fort-"

"Oh, just for a little while. We haven't seen you in over two weeks! Pleeeasse?" She bit her lip and her eyes looked watery.  _Aw jeez don't cry on me_. If the Bear of Briggs had one weakness, it was seeing girls cry. They'd had to relieve him of training female recruits because of it.

"Well okay, but-"

"Great! So what do you think of this dress?" She set her own teacup down, stood up from her chair, and pulled at her white frilly dress, adjusting it so that it rested even further down her bosom. He'd noticed upon walking in that it was awfully short; it barely covered the essentials.  _Do her parents know she's wearing this?_  The rest of the family dressed so conservatively it was hard to imagine they would be okay with it. The V-neck, lack of sleeves, and tightness turned her B-cups into C-cups, and the material was thin enough that he could see her nipples. Plus it was white.

"Uh…it's a little, uh…"  _Slutty._ Hell, he wouldn't want a girl he  _was_ interested in dressing like that. At least not in public.  _Olivier would never be able to fit into that. Her tits are so much bigger they'd probably tear the fabric wide open._ He started to snicker at that thought, but covered it up by pretending to cough.

"Some bread, Miss Catherine?" the maid reappeared behind her. Buccaneer immediately shifted his gaze to the outfit.  _Now that she could wear._

"Yes please, and let's be quick about it," Catherine said, snapping her fingers and returning her gaze to the man in front of her, who unbeknownst to her was no longer listening. "Now what was I saying? Oh right, this dress. It used to be longer, but I had it altered and I think it looks so much better this way, don't you? I normally wear pink, but I think now I'm starting to grow out of it, it's such a little-girl color. Now I'm thinking I might try red. What do you think? Would you like to see me in red?"

_The dress would look just like that, with the short puffy sleeves. Olivier likes gloves, so she could wear the long ones. I bet her hands are so soft under those gloves. And let's see, there could be a drawstring in the back so the dress could be taken off easily. No, not a drawstring, a bow. A great big white bow. That would look HOT. And then maybe instead of the bonnet she'd have a big black bow on her head. Or maybe bunny ears. And she could tap dance very slowly…_

"Um, hello? Why do you keep zoning out on me?"

Buccaneer blinked rapidly, trying to shake the pervy vision out of his head. "Uh, I just have a lot on my mind." He shifted nervously and, to his dismay, realized something truly terrible.

He was getting a boner.

"Maybe you're just  _distracted_ ," Catherine purred, leaning over the table to get closer to his face. She tugged on one of his facial hairs. "I can certainly see why." Buccaneer made a face. He normally wasn't one to complain about having a pretty girl's breasts right under his nose, but Catherine was so young-looking it would have felt like being with a twelve-year-old.  _Why can't she take a hint?_

"But that's enough about me. Tell me about your life, Captain. What was your childhood like?"

_Bam!_ "Unbelievable!" Olivier's voice could be heard clear across the mansion, and so could the sound of the huge door being slammed as she stalked through the house without bothering to remove her shoes. "This is an outrage!"

_Crash!_ Buccaneer didn't have to see her to know the Armstrong family was now short one glass.

"What happened?" he yelled. He started to get up, but immediately sat back down as he remembered the tightness in his pants. "Is everything okay?"

"No everything is not okay. This is the worst news I could possibly have gotten." Catherine frowned and Buccaneer cringed as the double doors to the room they were in were flung open and Olivier stood there with her D&D (deadly and dangerous, as the Briggs Bears had so affectionately dubbed it) face on.

"Olivier! What on earth happened? You don't mean-"

Buccaneer swore there had to be some kind of Armstrong sixth sense. Just like that, the rest of the family had burst through the other set of doors. First Josephine, then Amue and Alex, followed by Strongine and Philip. Soon the major general was surrounded. Upon seeing her parents, Buccaneer turned so that the tablecloth hid his lower body. The last thing he needed was them getting the wrong idea, and he was really starting to wish Catherine would move.

"Please tell me it's not true!" Amue cried, clutching a handkerchief, which was almost buried in her enormous hands.

"Worst news? That's just awful!" Strongine said.

"How tragic!" Alex sobbed, sparkles and tears catching the light of the many chandeliers.

"Poor Lieutenant Hawkeye, she and the Colonel must be heartbroken," Josephine said, shaking her head.

"Oh, there's nothing worse than a dead baby," Philip rumbled sadly.

"Dead? Who said anyone died?" Olivier raised an eyebrow.

The room was silent for a moment. "Well, what news could be worse than the baby dying?" Buccaneer asked.

Olivier rolled her eyes. "Tch. That's hardly the case. In fact, just the opposite happened. Riza started bawling and I imagine Mustang must be pissing himself with happiness." Olivier growled, crossing her arms and scowling.

"Happiness? I thought you said the news was bad," Buccaneer reminded her.

Olivier cracked her knuckles. "It  _is_ bad for me. I swear, it's just like Mustang's DNA to go and multiply on me!"

"Multiply?" everyone repeated in unison. There was silence for a moment, then a collective gasp.

"You don't mean…there's more than one?!" Alex asked, eyes bulging.

Olivier rolled her eyes. "What gave it away, idiot? Turns out I'm having twins."

"Oh, how marvelous!" everyone cried. Buccaneer chuckled as ten beefy hands encircled Olivier and her entire body was buried under her family, who ignored her shouts for them to get off.

"Twins? Oh Olivier, that's so amazing!"

"I love twins! They're so cute!"

"Colonel Mustang and his wife must be so happy! What a blessing for them."

"Let go before I tear you all apart limb from limb!" Olivier scrambled to her feet and brushed herself off. She turned, finally acknowledging Buccaneer. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Just wanted to see how it went. What kind of twins are they?"

"It's far too early to know that yet. But the doctor thinks they're fraternal."

"Aw, that's a shame," Amue said. "Identical twins are the cutest. But at least this way people can tell them apart. You're so lucky, Olivier."

" _Lucky?_ " Olivier whipped around. "Quit acting like this is a good thing. I signed up for one baby, not two."

"Olivier, having twins isn't  _that_ different from having a single baby," Josephine told her calmly. From what Buccaneer could tell she seemed to be the sanest of the bunch. "And you'll be happy to know that they generally come earlier than single babies, so you won't be pregnant as long."

"God I hope not," Olivier muttered. Maybe the tiny bump she'd discovered really hadn't been her imagination. But there was nothing to be done about it now. At least Riza was happy. "Ecstatic" might be a better word. She'd nearly broke down right there in the office, something Olivier wouldn't have thought the lieutenant capable of.

"Wait! We almost forgot to tell her the other news," Philip bellowed.

"What other news?" Olivier was instantly on high alert. This couldn't be good. Especially not with that twinkle in her father's eye.

He spread his arms grandly. "We've managed to acquire an orchestra, a decorating committee, and have hundreds of invitations all ready to go. In other words, all the arrangements have been made and the Armstrong Five benefit concert is definitely a go!"

"Hurray!" Even Buccaneer raised an arm at that, though he refrained from shouting the goofy phrase.

Olivier was steaming, feeling exhausted. "Not that nonsense again."

"But I thought you said you were going to do it," Buccaneer pointed out. She shot him a glare. He was one of her soldiers; he was supposed to be on her side.

"Oh please don't say no, dear." Josephine begged. "Your brother and sisters are so excited and your father has worked very hard to get everything ready. It wasn't easy trying to get all of this done before you get too far into your second trimester."

"That's only a month away, Mother." She paused. Wow. It really was only a month away.  _Great._ "We'll never be able to do it in time. Especially not with twins."

"Of course we can," Alex assured her. "The art of quick efficiency has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations!"

"Come on general," Buccaneer taunted. He had an idea. He gave her the best sneer he could muster. "You're so talented and strong this should be a piece of cake for you. Unless of course you're afraid."

"Why would I be afraid of singing and dancing?" Her cheeks puffed out and her eyes narrowed, just as he'd planned.  _Just like clockwork._

"Well…" He drummed his fingers on the table, pretending to think and trying not to notice how good she looked in pants. "It  _is_ a lot of pressure. All those people staring at you. You're probably afraid you'll mess up. But it's okay. It's perfectly natural to be afraid. Although I wouldn't expect that of our Ice Queen-"

"Shut up! I am  _not_ afraid. I could sing and dance better than half the population with my eyes closed and my hands tied. I'll perform at this concert and show you just how  _not_  afraid I am."

"Hurray!" Olivier grit her teeth as her family cheered again.

First she'd become pregnant with Mustang's twins, and now she was going to sing and dance with her siblings onstage in front of the entire country.

_I don't think I'll be taking another vacation anytime soon._


	12. Buccaneer's First Name

Olivier retreated to her bedroom (or, as her family called it, her cave) as soon as she possibly could, snatching a pair of toothpicks from the kitchen on her way up. She sat on the balcony that faced the backyard, watching the annoyingly perfect summer scenery and snapping toothpicks, grumbling. She missed the harshness of being surrounded by military men. Everything was so orderly with nothing out of place. She controlled every aspect of the environment, and the days and nights were filled with useful, practical tasks without pointless conversation. Briggs ruled by survival of the fittest first and foremost, but another, more unspoken rule they lived by was that talk was cheap. Action was always better.

But here in the Armstrong mansion, it was like Olivier's world had been flipped, turned upside down, and dropped. There was too much chaos, too much mushiness, too much talking, and  _way_ too much affection. Despite being heir to the estate and the oldest sibling, she wasn't in charge here. She'd been commander of an isolated fort and a high-ranking officer for so long it was sometimes hard to remember what not being in charge and not bearing the responsibility for hundreds of lives felt like. At home, she wasn't a fierce and mighty queen. She was just another Armstrong sister, a cute little doll that seemed to amuse everyone. In Central City she was just another officer, and now she wasn't even that much. It was maddening.

And despite Olivier's best efforts, there didn't seem to be anything she could do to change that. It wasn't like she could punish her family the way she punished her soldiers. Even yelling and threatening with her sword didn't have much effect. Olivier sighed. She suddenly felt very old. She couldn't remember how on earth she had grown up here among all this craziness. Maybe it had been easier then.

She became bored with the toothpicks and set them aside. Her stomach growled and she remembered she hadn't had breakfast that morning and her dinner from last night had gone out the wrong way. She lifted her shirt just a tad. Now she was positive it wasn't her imagination, there was  _definitely_ a bump there. A very tiny one, but a bump nonetheless. She touched it. It didn't feel any different from the rest of her, and of course she still felt nothing from within. She probably would soon, seeing as now there were  _two_ babies floating around in there.

Her stomach growled again and she reluctantly got up and stretched, wondering what she should eat. She was about to leave when she noticed a dark figure standing in the backyard. She leaned over the railing and saw that it was Buccaneer, standing alone and admiring the view. She smiled. One of the reasons they usually got on so well was because he had the same appreciation for nature that she did. She went downstairs and joined him outside, soaking in the sun and admiring the way it sparkled on the pool.

"You must have had your work cut out for you to get away from my sister."

He groaned. "I don't know why she's so stuck on me. Or am I really that good looking?" he asked, turning to her. She raised an eyebrow. His tone was joking, but also held a trace of hopefulness.

"I've seen better," she told him bluntly. He grumbled and she smirked. "I can just see it now. Catherine Armstrong and Buccaneer. How romantic."

He flicked that notion aside. "It's never going to happen, she's way too young," he insisted. "Our names don't even sound good together."

Something occurred to Olivier and she turned to him. "You never told me what your first name was."

Buccaneer coughed and cleared his throat. It's no big deal. Just call me Buccaneer."

Olivier grinned. "Why are you avoiding telling me your first name?"

He tensed. He knew that grin. It was pure evil. "I'm not avoiding it," he lied.

"Then what is it?"

"Why do you want to know?"

She rarely smiled this long. "The fact that you're refusing to tell me by answering my question with another question suggests that your name must be embarrassing. Is that it?"

"No! I just don't prefer it. I, uh, I was named after someone I don't like."

Olivier shook her head, her grin widening. A giggle escaped her. "You're digging your own grave, Pinocchio. I saw your eye twitch."

" _Again?"_  he roared, stomping his foot. "Dammit! I was so sure I wasn't doing it this time." A crucial weakness of his was that no matter how hard he tried, he could  _not_ tell a lie. Ever.

It had become a huge source of amusement for everyone at Briggs, especially Olivier. They occasionally called him Pinocchio because whenever he told a lie, he would involuntarily make some sort of physical movement that made it obvious. A twitch of his eye, a quirk of his lips, a nervous smile, or he'd twitch his nose like a rabbit. None of these things were on purpose and it seemed he could never control them even when he made a conscious effort not to do them. In some ways it was useful because it meant he could never lie to his commander, but it got to the point to where he was never filled in on the details of missions until the very last minute, because if an enemy somehow got hold of him there'd be no way for him to bluff.

"You should know by now that you  _can't_ lie," Olivier reminded him. He wanted to wipe that smile off her face. "You always give yourself away."

"Shut up."

"Tell me your name."

"No." He folded his arms and glared. She couldn't make him tell her, not anymore.

"You know I can find out if I want to. It would take one phone call."

"Headquarters won't talk to you."

"Hawkeye owes me a favor. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to look up your records for me." She folded her arms, mocking his stance. "You can either tell me now or I'll find out for myself."

He made a fist. "Why do you wanna know so bad? It's not important."

"Because you're refusing to tell me, and that  _is_ important. One can never know too much."

Buccaneer heaved a huge sigh. He held up his hands in defeat. Clearly there was no way around it. "All right, I'll tell you my name. But you have to  _swear_ you won't tell anyone else."

The evil grin returned. "So it  _is_ embarrassing then?"

"Some people think so. Maybe just a little bit." He wrinkled his nose before he could stop himself.  _Damn._ "Just please promise me?"

Olivier nodded. "Fine."

"All right. As long as you don't tell anyone." He did a quick glance around the yard to make sure no one else was around, then leaned in close to her so he was practically whispering. "My first name is Angel." He winced and recoiled, waiting for her to laugh.

He didn't have to wait long.

It started with a giggle. "No it's not. Come on, tell me your real name."

"That is my real name. Angel Q. Buccaneer."

"Q?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. It doesn't stand for anything, it's just a Q. Ask my mother, I have no idea."

Another giggle. " _Your_  name is Angel?"

"Look, I don't care what anyone says, it is  _not_ a girl's name! It can go either way!" His explanation fell on deaf ears. Olivier was ignoring him, shaking her head. The giggles had evolved into full-on laughs by now, which only increased as he protested.

"Your name is  _Angel_? That's got to be the most ironic thing I've ever heard!" she jeered between laughs. "The bear of Briggs, the fierce mountain monster, the huge captain everyone's afraid of who crushes Drachmans with his bare hands, and his name is  _Angel_?" She doubled over, laughing so hard her face turned a light pink. If it hadn't been at his expense he would have enjoyed the sight; she had a pretty laugh.

"It's not like I had a choice!" he yelled, his face going red. "I sure as hell didn't choose it."

Olivier was  _still_ laughing, covering her mouth with one hand and holding her side with the other. "Angel!" she said, and burst into a fit again.

"It's not that funny," he growled. He had never seen her laugh like this before. If someone who didn't know her were to watch her now, they might have confused her with the peppy cheerleader type from the way she was acting.

She finally straightened up and caught her breath, her cheeks still flushed. "Wait until Major Miles hears about this."

His mouth fell open. "You can't! You swore you wouldn't tell anyone!"

She shook her head. "That was before I knew your name was Angel. Miles will have a field day with this one."

He saw red. "You liar!"

Olivier shrugged. "Call me what you will, this is too good not to take advantage of."

"You wouldn't." He was begging now. "Come on Olivier, the major would never let me hear the end of it."

"I know." Olivier's evil grin was so wide you could have driven a tank over it.

"I won't let you." He jabbed a metal finger at her. "I'm warning you, if you tell him I'll make you regret it."

She bit her lip. "I highly doubt that."

"Why?"

"Because you're too much of an  _Angel_ to do anything bad!" And there went the laughing again. Buccaneer clenched his fists.  _This_ was why he hadn't wanted her to know his name. It was just like her to use it against him.

"Stop laughing!" he shouted, which of course made her laugh harder. She doubled over again, eyes closed, holding her cheeks and attempting to control herself.

An idea instantly dawned on him. He would teach her to laugh at him.

"I can't wait to see the look on Miles's face when he hears your name is- hey!" Before she could insult him again, he had bent down and slung her over his shoulder. Her hair rained down over her face so she could barely see where he was marching off with her. "What are you doing? Put me down!"

He smiled smugly, the return of her angry voice was satisfying. "No one makes fun of me and gets away with it. When you made the mistake of laughing at me, you let your guard down. And now you're gonna pay."

"I said put me down!" She started to kick, but he solved that problem by wrapping an arm around her knees and pressing them to his chest tightly. She squirmed, but he had a strong grip. Olivier was forced to resort to pounding his back with her fists like a child, not that it did much other than make her look stupid. The blood rushed to her head and she looked up to see the mansion retreating from them. "Where are you taking me?"

"Where all the bad little girls go," he replied sarcastically. Just to add insult to injury, he pinched her butt, knowing it would enrage her. The few men who had tried to touch her there hadn't lived to see the next day.

Enrage her it did. "If you don't put me down  _right now_ -"

He stopped. "All right, all right. Hold still and I'll let you go."

Surprised he'd actually listened, Olivier calmed down a bit and stopped moving. True to his word, his hands moved to her waist and he gently lowered her.

Or at least, he started to. Just before her feet touched the ground, he tightened his grip on her waist, swung his body around, and just as Olivier realized what he was doing and opened her mouth to scream, he had tossed her into the middle of the pool, where she landed with a loud splash. It was deep enough that she wasn't hurt, but when she pushed herself to the surface, completely soaked through and blinded with rage, he had already turned and run.

"GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW! I'LL KILL YOU!"

He knew Olivier would have to swim to the side of the very, very wide pool (which was precisely why he'd thrown her into the middle of it), climb out, and catch up to him before she could follow through on that, so he wasn't too worried. He sprinted into the mansion and ducked behind a bookshelf, grinning nervously when he heard her kick the door open.

"WHERE ARE YOU?" He had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. Whenever she was this mad she would always scream everything she said, and he found it comical.

"Olivier! What on earth are you doing all soaking wet?" That sounded like her mother, but he couldn't be sure. All the Armstrongs sounded the same to him.

"BECAUSE MY IDIOTIC SUBORDINATE THREW ME IN THE POOL, THAT'S WHY!"

"Not so loud! Use your indoor voice, dear."

" _Where_ is he?" she snarled. "I'll kill him. I'll rip his head right off his shoulders-"

"Not in those wet clothes you won't! You'll ruin the good carpet and catch a cold. At least get changed into dry clothes before you kill someone." Buccaneer blinked. How was Josephine so  _calm_ all the time?

"And let him get away? Hell no! He's going to  _pay_. As soon as I find him he's dead."

Buccaneer's eyes shifted nervously. He was beginning to regret hiding here; it didn't give him much chance of escape if she found him, which she undoubtedly would. And it must have been one of the few places the maids didn't bother with because it was covered in dust.

Josephine sighed. "Whatever you say, dear. Just don't walk on the carpet until you're dry."

A speck of dust drifted into Buccaneer's nose and without warning, he sneezed.  _Oh no._

"Aha! Now you're gonna get it- hey! Mother!"

"Olivier, I refuse to let you ruin that carpet."

"Put me down!" Olivier screeched. Buccaneer carefully moved away from the bookshelf and giggled at the sight of his general in her mother's arms, kicking and shivering (that water had been cold). He was impressed Josephine could lift her, but then she  _was_  an Armstrong. And she was so tall that Olivier didn't stand much chance of getting away.

"I think you need some time to calm down. And a hot bath. Let's go dry you off."

"Mother, for God's sake I'm not a child! Put. Me. Down!"

"You're not a child, but I am still your mother. I told you not to run on the carpet until you were dry, and you completely disobeyed me. Now I am forced to resort to more drastic measures."

Buccaneer cracked up and Josephine winked at him with a grin of her own. Her patronizing isn't-little-Olive-cute-when-she's-furious tone was the perfect cherry on top of the sundae of Olivier humiliation.

Olivier turned in her mother's arms and pointed a finger at Buccaneer. "I'll get you for this! Mark my words. I'll make you wish you'd never been born, Buccaneer."

"Yeah, yeah," he said snidely as the two women disappeared into another room. He might have made her hate him, but he had still won the battle.

Because she sure as hell wasn't calling him Angel anymore.


	13. Revenge Is Sweet

Olivier was terribly bored. You couldn't walk anywhere in Central and public transportation was so scarce it was practically nonexistent. She got out as much as she could, but her father and Catherine had a tendency to monopolize the drivers and Alex had to take a car to work every day. Which left Olivier stuck at home most days and it was making her stir crazy. Her mother nagged about everything under the sun, from leaving doors open to leaving lights on to not eating the right way to wearing the wrong clothes. It was making her angry and she was taking that out on her family and she hated herself for it because they were just being themselves.

Ergo, she was already not in the best of moods when Alex approached her yet again about practicing for the concert and choosing songs. The morning sickness had been vicious that day, and she was starting to feel heartburn as well.

"I was thinking that we could try a duet," he offered. "It's been years since we've done so, but our voices sound magnificent together!"

"I wasn't planning on anything special," Olivier said, glowering at him from her bed. After she had laid it into him about knocking first, Alex developed this irritating habit of knocking  _and then_  barging in without waiting for her to say whether it was all right for him to enter. There was barely a difference. "I'm just doing a few Ishvalan songs with the five of us." Olivier found comfort in Ishvalan music because it was meant to be sung collectively by a large group, and she hoped her voice would get lost in the crowd, making it harder for people to realize just how good she really was.

"But Sister, I found the perfect song for us. We wouldn't even have to venture out of our ranges. Remember the song titled "Dangerous Game" from that musical we saw as children?"

"What?" Olivier bolted up. "Alex, the woman in that song has to dress up like a prostitute, get felt up by a murderer who acts as though he's in love with her, and pretend she likes it."

"That's called acting, Sister." Alex sparkled. "I admit it's written more for tenors, but I've been practicing and I don't see any trouble-"

"No."

"But why-"

"No."

"Just give-"

"No. No. No." She remembered the choreography for that song all too well. The thought of Alex- or anyone really- running his hands down her body like that, even though it was only pretending, made her skin crawl.

Alex threw up his hands in the air and shook his head. "I suppose it was worth a try." He started to head for the door when the phone rang. "I'll get it!" He shouted and dashed to the spare room, which made the house shake a little bit, and grabbed the phone off the wall. Normally it was the servants' job to answer the phone, but apparently something had been going on at Central Command involving the hire of new subordinates to replace Maria Ross and Denny Brosch (who were currently on their honeymoon) that had people calling Alex left and right even when he wasn't working, so he spared them the trouble. "Armstrong residence?" He relaxed a bit. "Ah, hello Captain Buccaneer."

Olivier stiffened. She hadn't spoken to Buccaneer since the incident at the pool, which she was still pissed about. Every time she thought about it, her anger was freshly boiled.

"No, Olivier hasn't gone anywhere. Yes, we'll keep you posted as to her whereabouts." Olivier rolled her eyes. "Hmm? Pardon me, but what was that about Major Miles?"

Olivier stood up. Why would Buccaneer be talking about Miles? Unless…she ran across the hall. "Let me talk to him, Alex!"

"Sister, please, I'm on the phone!" Alex pushed her away. "I'll gladly hand it over when I'm finished."

Olivier started to argue, then had a better idea. She turned around and sprinted down the stairs. This place had telephones everywhere and they were all on the same line. She moved down one hallway, then another, until she found the communications room (it was where the radio and similar pieces of technology were kept) and grabbed the receiver off the hook.

"Yeah, when I told him about it, the major said he wouldn't miss this concert for anything. In fact, he's even bringing a couple of our closer subordinates from Briggs with him. At this rate it's almost like the whole fort will be there to hear General Armstrong sing." The smugness in Buccaneer's voice was not lost on Olivier, but before she could think of something sharp to reply with, Alex spoke.

"Indeed, Captain! But come now, are you sure you can't perform with us? The more the merrier, especially since it seems you and Olivier are stuck with each other anyway."

Olivier's eyes widened as she heard what sounded like a shudder from Buccaneer. "Oh no way, Major. Not me. I can't sing to save my life, and I'm so ungraceful my dancing's just as bad." He laughed a little. "I mean come on, how can you dance with automail? If it were me on stage in front of hundreds of people, I think I'd die of embarrassment."

A smile grew on Olivier's face. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. This was just too perfect.

"Ah, yes, perfectly understandable," Alex assured him. "Regardless we look forward to your arrival as well as that of Major Miles and the rest. This concert is looking more and more promising everyday. Why, I believe my mother is just now sending out the invitations-"

Olivier dropped the phone and bolted down the hall.

"Mother!" She called, sprinting as fast as she could toward the entrance of the mansion. "Mother!"

"Whoa, slow down, my girl!" Philip bellowed after her from his office. He poked his head into the hallway. "Where on earth are you off to in such a hurry?"

"I can't talk now, Father. Where's Mother? I need to find her right away, it's important."

"Last I heard, she just finished up the invitations and handed them off to one of the errand boys to mail-"

"Where is this errand boy?"

"Er, he's probably just left- wait!" But Olivier had already taken off. Her feet pounded down the stairs as fast as they would go. She was careful to avoid being spotted by Alex in the foyer, then burst through the doors to the mansion. A young man carrying a large box was just passing the fountain in their front yard.

"Wait! Stop!" Olivier yelled, sprinting after him. This was the most activity she'd done in over a month, and while it probably wasn't good for her, it felt great. The feeling of her heart slamming hard against her chest and her hair flying around her face was something she'd missed. She was breathing heavily as she began to catch up to the man, who had halted in puzzlement.

"Madame Olivier! What's wrong, ma'am?" he asked, concerned.

Olivier hunched over and held up her index finger, indicating she needed a moment to catch her breath. She nodded to the box. "Are those the invitations for the concert?"

"Yes, ma'am. I was just on my way to mail them."

"Don't." Olivier held out her arms. "Give them to me."

He hesitated. "Ma'am-"

"Don't worry, I just need to correct them. My mother doesn't know this, but I realized that there was a mistake made on the invitations, and I need to fix it right away. After that's done, I promise I'll get them back to you."

"A mistake, ma'am?"

"Yes. She put the wrong date on them." Olivier hoped this man hadn't seen the invitations before they'd been put into the box, but her mother tended to work with mostly female servants for this type of thing. She gave him a warning look. "I need them back at once."

"I understand, ma'am. It's just- Lady Armstrong gave me strict orders not to let this box out of my sight until I'd gotten it to the post-"

"Do you value your balls?"

"My what?" He seemed a little flustered.  _Must be new to the job._

"Balls. Boys. Testicles. Whatever you call them, they won't be attached to you for very long if you don't give me that box."

He must have seen the glint in her eyes, because he set the box down and backed off without a word. Olivier snatched it up, then grunted. It was heavier than she expected. "How many of these things are in here?"

"About five hundred, ma'am."

"Wha-  _five hundred_?" Olivier gaped. She shook her head, recovering swiftly. Whatever. She could have words with her family about that later. Right now she had something to do. She left the man standing there awkwardly and lugged the box toward the side of the house. There was a little-used entrance that hardly anyone used, which was good for when she wanted to get into the house without being seen. She slipped through that door, which opened into an area that was more or less used for storage, and headed for the letter-writing room.

Yes. The letter-writing room. Her parents really did have way more rooms in this place than they knew what to do with.

Olivier ducked into the room, which was bare save for a desk, a chair, some writing supplies and some stationery, and set the box down on top of the desk. She locked the door and dropped into the chair, tearing the box open savagely. It didn't matter; she'd buy another box if she had to. She grabbed a handful of envelopes, starting with the ones that would be sent to her Briggs men, and set to work. Olivier would have to re-do, re-address, and re-seal them herself, but the end result would be worth it. And besides, she only planned on doing that for the people she knew would actually come; the rest wouldn't miss their invitations. She highly doubted her parents even knew five hundred people, and there were certain members of her family that, if it were up to Olivier, wouldn't even be allowed to set foot into the country, much less her own home.

_You are cordially invited to attend a charity benefit concert supporting the aid of Ishval._

_This concert will feature the Armstrong family heirs, better known as the Armstrong Five._

_Saturday August 4, 1916 at 7pm._

_Armstrong Mansion, Central City, Central, Amestris._

_General Admission $30_

_All proceeds shall go toward aiding the people of Ishval._

Olivier could barely contain her malicious excitement as she snatched up a pen and scribbled at the bottom of each invitation,

_Includes a musical performance by Fort Briggs captain Angel Q. Buccaneer._


	14. Music and Motorcycles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song here is "Speed Test" from Thoroughly Modern Millie, with Olivier playing Millie and Alex playing Trevor Graydon. If you aren't familiar with it, I highly recommend looking it up because you'll get more out of this chapter and possibly future chapters if you know what the song is like.

Scar heard a funny noise emanating from one of the military tents and instinctively rushed toward it, the desert sun sending rivers of sweat down his back and face. He had been away from Ishval so long that he had forgotten how intense the summer heat could be, especially after spending so much time in the north. His sandals slapped against the hard, lifeless ground and he wiped his brow for the fiftieth time as he shoved the tent flap aside. He froze at the sight that greeted him.

Scar thought for sure that after thirty-five years of life, during which he had become a priest, lost everything but the clothes on his back in a massive genocide, killed a dozen people, spent years as a fugitive from the law, battled homunculi and a psychopathic killer to boot, and then turned everything around by saving the very country that hated him, he had seen everything. Surely by now, nothing could surprise him.

He was wrong.

Major Miles, who had barely cracked a smile since they'd arrived in Ishval- he'd gone through quite a grieving period when he realized how many Briggs men had been killed, for which Scar sympathized- was now curled up on the ground laughing hard. He pounded his fists against the dirt and tears streaked down his dusty face. His body shook, and every time he tried to bring himself under control, he'd burst out with a fresh round of laughter that left him speechless and unable to breathe. Scar noticed his shades were lying at an odd angle nearby, indicating that they'd probably fallen off when he collapsed out of sheer hilarity.

"Um…Miles?"

"H-h-his name is Angel!" Miles squawked, then rolled over as he entered another fit of hysteria. This was the first time Scar had ever heard him laugh, or show any kind of emotion at all for that matter, and he might have been happy for his friend if it hadn't struck him as so weird.

"Whose name is Angel?" Scar raised an eyebrow. That wasn't an Ishvalan name.

Miles raised his arm high, and Scar noticed he was holding what looked like a card. He took it and skimmed the elegant script. It wasn't until he got to the bottom that he realized what Miles was referring to. He recognized Olivier Armstrong's handwriting from when he'd watched her sign Miles's transfer papers; it was very distinct in his mind because he'd never seen anyone write in such bold flourishes. He had never met Captain Buccaneer, but he had seen pictures in newspapers and Miles's old albums. The thought of that fearsome man having such an ironic name was enough to make even him grin.

"Is he really going to perform on stage?" Scar asked disdainfully. As grateful as he was that the Armstrongs were doing this for Ishval, wild horses couldn't have made him consider showing up to it. Besides the fact that he was still currently wanted by the police and presumed to be a dead man, the thought of Major Armstrong singing and dancing was enough to make him cringe, and he couldn't imagine Buccaneer would look much better.

"I sure as hell hope so!" Miles answered cheerfully. Having finally managed to get himself under control, he stood up. Scar was slightly amazed at how much happier he looked.  _Maybe a good laugh is what the people of this country need._

Miles sighed in content, fixing his disheveled hair. "I promise not to be gone long, but now I definitely cannot miss this concert. Even if it wasn't for Ishval's benefit, I'd pay double the admission price to see General Armstrong and Captain Buccaneer- make that Captain  _Angel_ Buccaneer-" he added with a smirk. "Make fools of themselves on stage. And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go radio Briggs and tell  _everyone_ about this." He snickered again and ducked out of the tent, still laughing to himself. Scar didn't think it was  _quite_  thatfunny, but then there wasn't much he did consider humorous. He was reluctant for Miles to leave, but it was only for a couple of days and he knew his red-eyed brother needed a break.

"You have fun with that," Scar remarked matter-of-factly.

* * *

Karley sighed, removing his headphones and putting his feet on the desk. General Armstrong wasn't there, after all. "It's just too quiet around here with all our best people gone."

"I know," Henschel grumbled. "Even Drachma seems to have disappeared off the radar. Not a spy in sight."

Karley was about to reply when the telephone rang. He grabbed it before Henschel could. "This is Karley. Hey Major! Good to hear from- what?" Henschel's pen stilled as he noticed the look on his comrade's face.

"Yeah, we heard about that concert too. Yeah, it sounds awesome, but it's not like we can go." He rolled his eyes, then stilled. "Wait.  _What?_ You mean the captain…" He was silent for a long time, and Henschel could hear what sounded like laughing on the other line.

After a time, Karley said goodbye and hung up. He turned away, but Henschel could see the watery grin making its way onto his face.

"What's so funny?" he asked gruffly. He widened his eyes when Karley immediately erupted into a hysterical fit of laughter, pounding his fist on the desk and covering his face with his hand.

" _What?_  Come on, let me in on the joke!" Henschel shook Karley hard. "What the hell is so funny?"

"Sorry! It's just-" He snorted and giggled again.

"Karley!"

"Okay, okay! You remember that Armstrong concert, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you know how the captain was sent down to be her bodyguard?"

"Get to the point."

"Well…" Karley glanced around quickly to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then whispered what Miles had just told him on the phone. Henschel laughed so hard he nearly bust a gut.

Karley put his headphones back on and fiddled with the radio dials. "Yes, Central Command? I'd like you to connect me to a master sergeant Fuery. Sure, I'll hold. Oh, there you are Fuery. Yeah, this is Karley from Briggs. I'd like to talk to you about setting up some recording equipment in the Armstrong mansion…"

* * *

"The Armstrongs are having a party? Why the hell wasn't I invited?" Roy demanded indignantly of his youngest subordinate.

Fuery shrugged sheepishly. "I guess General Armstrong didn't want you to come, sir. But the rest of the team is invited."

Roy smirked. "Huh. Well I'm coming alright. Olivier Armstrong and Captain Buccaneer singing and dancing? I wouldn't miss that for the world." He picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Riza? I'll need you to dust off your evening gown. We've got a party to crash."

* * *

"Hey, Winry! You remember that Buccaneer guy from Briggs? Yeah, that's the one. Well guess what his real name is?" Edward could hardly restrain himself from laughing as he told her. "Yeah, of course I'm going to the concert! I'll come back next week and we'll go together. Yeah. Seeya." He hung up and immediately picked up the phone again. "Hello? Yeah, I'm trying to reach a guest at your hotel. His name is Alphonse Elric. I'd like to leave a message for him about a certain party that we're both invited to…"

* * *

Izumi handed the invitation to Sig. "Well? What do you think? I personally would love to see that guy with the mohawk perform."

Sig squeezed her shoulders and smiled. "A night out with you sounds perfect. Let's go."

* * *

"Oh my goodness! Oh, this sounds like so much fun," Mrs. Bradley gushed. "What do you think, Selim? Would you like to go see a bunch of people sing and dance?"

"Yeah! That sounds like fun!" He squealed, jumping up and down.

Grumman chuckled. "It's a date then.

* * *

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous! How fabulously gay the scene looks!"

The Armstrong Five allowed themselves a smile as their cousin and long-time performance instructor Jesse- who was also fabulously gay, if he did say so himself- applauded them. His hair, which was cut shorter than most Armstrongs', was dyed blue and matched his tight, frilly outfit, the bows of which bounced as he jumped up and down. His skinny little body sparkled so brightly the effect was almost blinding, and his green eyes nearly matched it, they were so proud.

"Oh my darlings, you are a true work of art. Every one of you, simply brilliant!"

"Thank you," they chorused, adding a little sparkle of their own (except for Olivier, who merely waited for feedback). They'd been practicing all day and it was nice to be told they were finally looking good. Normally he preferred choreography that was much more challenging and physically demanding, but this time they were toning it down a bit for Olivier, which made her bristle with annoyance. She'd started out tapping behind her brother and sisters, content to let Catherine have the spotlight since she was clearly desperate for it, but he had insisted on having her front and center.

They had agreed to return as roles they'd played when they were younger: Olivier as the female lead, Alex as the man she was trying to throw herself on (which she only agreed to because in this song, all she had to do was sing and make goo-goo eyes at him from a distance), and her sisters as backup ensemble. And since she'd already done it once before, it was easier to pick up and remember, rather than trying to learn a whole new song.

"Now Olivier darling, your singing is flawless, but your acting needs some work," he said, wagging a finger. She made a face. If she hadn't had so much respect for the man (he'd won a few awards in his time and definitely knew his stuff), she might have been inclined to snap at him. "You don't seem like you're  _in love_ with him! I need you to be more flirty. Sweetheart, this is your dream guy!"

"Jesse, I have an abundance of phrases to choose from to describe my  _brother_. 'Dream guy' is not one of them."

"Sweetheart, just  _try_  not to look so sour when you talk about marrying him." Jesse stuck out his lower lip. "Come on, please? You sound so good and your dancing's just the right speed."

Olivier huffed. Catherine giggled and spoke in a syrupy-sweet tone. "The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you two can go on your honeymoon! And if you ask nicely, I'll sing at your wedding."

"Shut it!" Olivier told her. Catherine was letting the fact that Jesse had given her a solo go to her head, and frankly Olivier was tired of it. Just because she could sing higher didn't mean she could sing better, and though she came close at times, Catherine still couldn't sing as high as Amue, something Olivier loved to remind her about.

"Ladies, please, you're both fabulous!" Jesse chided them with a feminine flick of his wrist. "Now let's take it from the top just one more time, and then we'll call it a day."

The five of them nodded and moved back into position. Olivier sat at her desk and placed her fingers over the keys of the typewriter propped on top of it. When she looked up, she was still a little daunted at just how big the auditorium of the mansion was. It could easily seat over a thousand people (provided they weren't Armstrong-size). The stage felt higher than it probably was, and when the headlights were on, it was nearly impossible to see anything that was offstage, which was a mercy when performing. The audience mostly just resembled a black mass. Amue, Strongine and Catherine each sat down at their respective desks. Jesse had arranged it so that Catherine was between them because he said it gave the stage more balance, which made Catherine a little pressed for space.

Alex stood by the larger desk, fully costumed in his black suit. He was the only one who would be wearing fancy attire; the others were all playing it casual. Catherine wore a cute little dress that she had bought (at a high price, Olivier had no doubt) specifically for the concert, but the other girls were playing it simple with just comfortable black dress pants and blouses that they could easily move around in. They wouldn't be wearing costumes because they would be doing songs from all kinds of eras and cultures and didn't want to be bothered with changing after every number. They would, however, have to switch from character shoes to tap shoes quite a few times, and in Catherine's case, ballet shoes.

"A-one, two, three, four!" Jesse pointed to the orchestra, who had just shown up the other day, and they instantly started up. Olivier had noticed they looked incredibly bored and a little frustrated. She could understand why; it couldn't be easy with all the starting and stopping they did during practice, and Jesse was constantly asking them to scratch this part, add another, play the harmony, repeat the melody, etc. She could see the sheet music resting on their stands from where she was sitting, and it was barely readable for all the penciled-in notes scribbled everywhere.

Alex launched into a short monologue, then sang, his deep voice reverberating around the theater even without a microphone. He moved his hands dramatically, pacing the stage as he slowly raised his volume the farther he got into the song. Olivier had to give him credit, he looked like he was into it. He never struggled with finding the right facial expression like she did. She could remember movements (she was pretending to type what Alex was saying as he sang), but she had no idea how to make her face look the way it was supposed to. She glanced over at Jesse and noticed he was biting his nails. There had to be a way to make this work.

"How's my speed, Miss Dillmount?" Alex asked with a face that reminded her of Buccaneer when he was acting cocky. Without even thinking about it, she smirked and added a flirty tone, knowing that would always make Buccaneer blush and grumble.

"A little slow, perhaps."

"Ah," Alex nodded with a smug satisfaction. He continued singing at a faster pace, and Olivier studied him with Buccaneer in mind. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jesse begin to smile and nod.

When he finished, Alex folded his arms and stood authoritatively over Olivier. "Now, read that back to me please." She noticed he stood with the same ramrod-like stance that commanding officers always used, particularly when they were offering a challenge. Olivier never backed down from a challenge.

"Certainly," she said, a satisfying memory whizzing through her mind of many a commander's mouth falling open when they realized the kind of soldier she was. "Dear Mr. Hudson." She gave the obligatory pause. "Colon."

The song was a little high for her, but if Alex could do it, then so could she, and she would do it faster. She read off her "letter" (really a blank piece of paper in her hands, on which Catherine had left a nasty note for her when she wasn't looking) the way she would a superior progress report. When the lyrics reached their peak, she again tried to think of Alex as Buccaneer and gave him a smug, daring smile.

"Nice!" Alex sounded like he meant it, even though that was technically part of the song. Olivier finished up her part nicely, her confidence boosted by the fact that Jesse hadn't interrupted them yet. The feeling didn't last long though, mostly because in her opinion the rest of the song was stupid and a little unnecessary. It was mostly just her repeating nonsensical phrases with the ensemble, and then going into a tap dance in which they pretended to type but were actually tapping instead. It was a difficult routine to learn, but she was sitting down for it, so it didn't take too much of a toll. Poor Amue and Strongine suffered the worst, because their feet were made more for stomping than tapping and their shoes didn't fit them too well.

"Bravo! That was amazing! You have blown me away!" Jesse clapped hard, shaking his head and wiping a tear from his fake eyelashes when they finished. "Olivier, that was so much better. I knew you could do it. Alex, you were right on the money too."

"How about me, Jesse? Did you see how great I was?" Catherine squealed, fluttering her eyelashes. "I had perfect pitch the entire time!" She tossed her hair and crossed her arms, giving off an air as though she'd actually done something important. "But if you ask me, Olivier still didn't quite hit the notes on that last part. Are you  _sure_ you don't want me to take over for her? I think she could use the help, and this music was written more for a  _soprano_ anyway."

It was taking everything in Olivier's power to stop herself from strangling her sister. She clenched her teeth and mentally counted to ten, longing for toothpicks.

"You seem to be forgetting that  _nobody_ asked you, Catherine," Strongine hissed.

"Honeys, you're  _all_  fabulous. I couldn't ask for a better group to teach. I'll see you all at the same time tomorrow, so enjoy the rest of your day! Toodle-ooh!" He gathered up his notes and skipped out of the auditorium just as the servants were coming in to put away the props. Olivier felt a hand on her shoulder and tensed, looking up.

"That was truly magnificent, Sister," Alex rumbled, wiping a tear from his eye. "Such realism in character portrayal is such a rare sight to behold!"

"Hmph." Olivier offered him the tiniest of half-smiles. "Well, I can't exactly allow you to perform better than me. But don't delude yourself into thinking I like you in real life."

"Nevertheless I am so excited for this concert I can barely stand it!" Alex raised his arms and Olivier, Amue and Strongine hurried out of the auditorium as his shirt was ripped to bits and the sparkles surrounding their brother multiplied. Catherine stayed at his side, gazing at his muscles in awe.

"So what changed, Olivier?" Amue asked before Olivier could walk away.

"Yeah, what made you go from 'okay' to amazing?" Strongine said teasingly.

"Tch!" Olivier turned around, letting her hair flounce behind her. "It's not like it's that hard. Millie's just a pathetic little gold digger who pretends to be strong and independent when in fact she's so desperate that she feels she needs a man to complete her."

"And yet you play her so well!" Amue gushed. "You and Alex are going to steal the show." She clasped her hands. "I'm almost as excited as he is. This is going to be so much fun!"

Olivier heaved a sigh and sulked through the mansion, which had undergone a bit of a change now that it was getting closer to the date of the concert. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry and the atmosphere was flustered. Decorations were being put up everywhere and a vase of fresh roses was placed on every single surface (apparently this shindig was supposed to have a rose theme even though it was supposed to be about Ishval, which, naturally speaking, was about as far away from a rose garden as it got).So many aromas were wafting from the kitchen that it was making her head spin; she'd gotten sick again three times this past week. The poor servants were working their tailcoats off with all the cleaning and rearranging Josephine was making them do. Normally Olivier might have offered to help, but she knew so little about all things fancy that she'd inevitably make the place look worse. The one place where her abilities were useful was the garden, and it was so brutally hot out there that Olivier wouldn't have ventured into the yard if her life depended on it.

She wracked her brain, trying to think of something even remotely useful that she could do, but was interrupted by the doorbell. She waited for the butler to answer it, thinking it must be another somebody-or-other hired to help out with all the thousands of things that needed to be done, but the butler must have been as harried as everyone else. A sharp knock later and still no one answered. Olivier headed for the tall doors and pulled hard on the handle. She was a little surprised at how much effort was required, these things were heavy.

"Hey! You're just the person I wanted to see."

Olivier scowled at Buccaneer and folded her arms. "What do you want?"

He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "So you're still mad at me, huh?"

"Perhaps." The snow-capped mountains were warmer than Olivier's voice.

"Well, I'm sorry. If it helps, I brought a little something to make it up to you." He jerked his thumb behind him. "Thought maybe you could use a little fresh air. Since no one called me to accompany you anywhere, I figured you'd been cooped up in the house all week."

Olivier shrugged. "We've been preparing for the concert. What did you bring me?"

He beckoned her to follow him. "Come outside and I'll show you. I can't bring it into the mansion."

Olivier stepped out into the sunlight, noticing for the first time how weird it was to see Buccaneer out of uniform. Even when they went down to North City for the occasional drink, he was still bundled up in the military-issue black fur-lined coat. Now he stood in a white tank top and black pants, his braid hanging halfway down his back. She followed him down the walkway and stopped at the fountain, which was also decorated in roses.

"Here she is." Buccaneer gestured with his metal hand to the side of the fountain. Olivier raised an eyebrow when she saw a black and silver motorcycle propped up against it, the headlight glistening in the afternoon sunshine. "Isn't she something?"

"You brought me a motorcycle?" Olivier asked skeptically.

"No," he replied slowly. He stepped around it and reached down. "The motorcycle is mine. I brought  _you_  a helmet." He grinned and held it out to her. "Remember last time we were in North City together? You told me you'd always wanted to ride one of these. I just recently started riding again for the first time in years, and I can tell you it's a hell of a lot better than being trapped inside a stuffy car or traipsing around in the heat." He put on his own helmet and mounted the motorcycle, patting the seat behind him. "Hop on."

Olivier's heart skipped a beat. She took the helmet and turned it around in her hands, trying not to show how excited that made her. She  _had_ always wanted to try riding a motorcycle ever since the first time she had seen one at four years old. It had been when motorcycles were first being developed, and she'd watched with her eyes and mouth in wide circles as riders sped around Central City faster even than cars. Olivier loved anything that went fast and had hoped that when she grew up she could ride in one of the military tanks her father told her stories about. She had watched the motorcycles and imagined what it would be like to go fast without being confined by walls and a roof and how much easier the controls must be since the machine wasn't nearly as bulky and had wanted to ride it  _so_ badly.

_"Mommy, can I ride one pleeeaase?"_

_"Absolutely not! Those things are accidents waiting to happen. There's no protection, Olivier! Think how dangerous it would be if the rider lost control and crashed." Josephine shook her head and muttered to herself about daredevil young folk who were looking to get themselves killed, stroking her very pregnant stomach. Olivier still couldn't tear her eyes off of those motorcycles, they looked like so much fun! Philip chuckled at the awe in her big blue eyes, picked his little girl up, and let her head rest on his shoulder so she could watch them a little longer as the family walked away._

_"Someday, my girl. Someday," he'd whispered in her ear when his wife wasn't looking._

Olivier smiled. It looked like someday was today. But that didn't mean she was going to drop her poker face. "I suppose I could overlook your pervious offense in light of this, assuming it will be a decent ride." Buccaneer grinned and revved up the engine as she slipped on her helmet. It was a cumbersome, heavy thing, but even she knew it would be foolish not to wear one. Her heart leaping out of her chest, she carefully maneuvered herself onto the seat behind Buccaneer. She hoped they wouldn't need to communicate too much; they were both wearing helmets that covered their mouths and the engine was loud.

"Put your arms around my waist and hang on tight, okay?" Buccaneer shouted in what sounded like quite a cheerful tone. Olivier grimaced a little as she realized how intimate they were going to look, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if that was the real reason why he'd offered to take her on his motorcycle. But she wanted the ride more than she didn't want to hug him, so she scooted closer to him and hooked her arms around his stomach while settling her feet on the bars at the same time.

"Ready?" he called.

"Yes!" For the first time in God knew how long, Olivier was excited for something.

"Here we go!" Buccaneer's feet left the ground, the motorcycle roared to life, tilted a bit, and they were off. Olivier had underestimated how fast the bike was and she found herself hanging onto Buccaneer tighter than she'd planned. There was a strong breeze that day, and as Buccaneer floored it out of the Armstrong front yard (a straight shot for about a mile), it hit them both full force. Olivier was thankful Buccaneer wore his hair in a braid; otherwise it would have been directly in her face. Thankfully the helmet kept some of hers down, but the rest of it flared wildly every which way.

It was exhilarating. She smiled.

Once Buccaneer got away from the mansion, he had more obstacles to dodge, and there were a few times where the motorcycle tilted so far off to the side that Olivier instinctively clutched his shirt and shut her eyes tight, but Buccaneer seemed to know what he was doing. After he drove the two of them down several streets (and turning quite a few heads along the way), she began to get used to it. This was almost as much fun as she'd imagined it to be as a child. Cars were going to seem incredibly slow after this, and she wondered if she might not be able to talk him into doing this more often.

Buccaneer gripped the handles, slowing down more than he normally would to take turns. He had asked around to make sure it was okay for pregnant women to ride motorcycles and apparently it was as long as the driver was careful and the woman wasn't too far along yet. He took care to avoid any bumpy roads or places with high traffic, but, just to mess with her, he occasionally veered the bike sharply to the right or left, smirking when she tightened her grip. His stomach was doing flip-flops at the feeling of her so close to him. He wondered if people would recognize them outside of uniform and with helmets covering their faces. A part of him hoped so and a part of him didn't. He loved having her all to himself.

"Hang on! Here comes the grand finale!" he yelled, turning down a side street. He had set up a ramp outside of his apartment building and he hoped it was still there. Buccaneer intended to show his queen a good time and that simply couldn't be done without at least one little stunt. A minute later, the ramp was still there, with nobody around.

_Perfect._

Olivier held back a scream of delight and apprehension as she saw what he was heading for at top speed. She bit her lip and willed herself to trust him. The sounds of the motorcycle echoed in her ears and Buccaneer let out a whoop as he drove faster, faster, up, and up…

Olivier couldn't hold back a small yelp as suddenly they were airborne. In all seriousness, they weren't  _that_ high, but the same thrill she got from driving a tank down a mountain at eighty miles an hour surged through her entire body and her heart was pounding so hard it was making her chest hurt. She forced herself to keep her eyes open as Buccaneer expertly got them down onto the second ramp, curved, and on the road again.

"That was awesome!" he cheered, coming to a stop near a restaurant. He parked the motorcycle, turned off the ignition, and removed his helmet. Olivier let go of him and he turned to face her. "I would take you farther, but I want to make sure I have enough gas to get you home. But if you'd allow me, I'll buy you dinner."

Now that her helmet was off, Olivier could see Buccaneer's smile. It wasn't his normal goofy grin or smirk, but a nice, honest smile. It was, well for lack of a better word, nice. And it seemed to make his face ten times more attractive. She studied him for a moment.  _I never noticed this, but he's actually not bad-looking._

Not that she was interested. Because she could never think of Buccaneer like that. Nope. Not at all. He was her subordinate and maybe-kinda-sorta-just-a-little-bit her friend. But that was it! Nothing more.

But still it didn't mean she couldn't have dinner with him. Olivier glanced up at the restaurant. It was the kind of place that used candlelight, but that didn't mean anything. It was just a casual dinner between workmates. And she  _was_  feeling a little hungry, plus it would be rude not to accept his offer, and she didn't want to be rude to him after what he'd just treated her to.

"I'd like that," she told him with a small smile. He seemed pleased, and she actually began to feel remorseful about what she'd done to the invitations. Now that she thought about it, it  _was_ a pretty low move on her part.

She shook the thought out of her head. It wasn't like anyone would take what she'd written seriously. In fact, she was sure hardly anybody was even coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The motorcycle was invented in 1885. I'm putting Olivier's age somewhere in the mid-to-late 30's in this story, so she would have been a kid when they first started hitting the streets. The Briggs characters would make the ultimate motorcycle gang.


End file.
